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THE BRIC-A-BRAC DEALER, 



THE 


BRIC-A-BRAC DEALER 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 





(; MAY 16 j892 

New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIOER BROTHERS 

Printers to the Holy Aj>ostolie See 
1892 


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Copyright, 1892, by Benziger Brothers. 

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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — The Bric-a-Brac Dealer: His Wares and his 


Customers, 

JI. — Death of M. Quesnoy’s Visitor, 

III. — Marguerite, .... 

IV. — Qualms of Conscience, 

V. — Marguerite’s Mother, 

VI. — A Change of Heart, 

VII. — The Plan is Carried Out, 

VIII. — The Potter’s Art, 

IX. — Marguerite Makes an Acquaintance, 

X. — The Old Pitcher is Sold, 

XI. — Duty Before Pleasure, 

XII. — Marguerite Delivers a Message, 

XIII. — The Bric-a-Brac Dealer Tells the Secret, 

XIV, — Marguerite Goes to her New Home, 


5 

26 

38 

49 

58 

76 

93 

105 

123 

131 

143 

153 

165 

171 



THE BRIC-A-BRAC DEALER. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BRIC-A-BRAC DEALER: HIS WARES AND 
HIS CUSTOMERS. 

D uring that period of the Second Empire 
when the fever of demolition was still 
at its height in Paris, there stood in one of the 
little streets of the faubourg Saint Honore a 
low and narrow building, the remnant of a 
former time. How different from our modern 
structures, so elegant, so neatly finished ! 
What a contrast between our present luxu- 
rious warerooms and the low, dingy shops 
which served their purpose in past genera- 
tions ! 

No richly decorated plate-glass and show- 
cases were to be seen in front ; nothing but a 
large window divided into many small panes 
of various colors. 

By some chance or other gas had found its 

5 


6 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


way thither, but it seemed out of place under 
the low ceiling with its dark beams, and as no 
mirror reflected or multiplied its rays, there 
was never much light, either in daytime or at 
night, in that dingy, disordered place into 
which we beg to introduce our reader. 

Do not imagine, however, that the old house 
presented a repulsive appearance: quite the 
contrary. The front was kept scrupulously 
clean and had been newly plastered ; the shut- 
ters were freshly painted ; the windows were 
ornamented with white curtains, their dimin- 
utive size being their only fault. 

The dark alley-way which led to the house 
was always in perfect order and frequently 
sprinkled, lest its neat appearance should be 
compromised. An automatic bell at the lat- 
tice gate announced each arrival. 

A coat-of-arms was the only index to luxury. 
A sign with gold letters over the front win- 
dow of the first story read thus : 

Jerome Quesnoy, 

DEALER IN BRIC-A-BRAC. 

Behind one of the lower panels of the win- 
dow was a tablet which gave more information 
regarding the work done inside, thus : 


His Wares and His Customer^, 7 

Old Porcelain and Faience Bought and Sold, 

Exchanged and Repaired; Works of Art 
of all Kinds, at Moderate Prices. 

And to show the truth of the announcement 
there was in the window a collection of fenc- 
ing-foils, old watches, bronzes, china vases, 
cut-glass, exquisite lace, old Palissy, and es- 
pecially specimens of porcelain from all the 
nations that have excelled in this particular 
art. 

Although humble in the eyes of those accus- 
tomed to the splendor of modern fashion, the 
little store presented an air of respectability 
quite captivating. It was the richest in that 
quarter, inhabited only by fruit-sellers, char- 
coal venders, wine-merchants, and dealers in 
bric-a-brac ; there was so much idle and vul- 
gar talk to be heard all around that the quiet 
and semi-obscure sanctuary of Papa Quesnoy 
was a place of ‘'sweet repose.’' 

M. Quesnoy had easily gained rank among 
the upper ten of the neighborhood, generally 
composed of merchants who did not own much 
property. Besides, that part of the faubourg 
was little frequented by what is termed “ the 
fashionable world;” yet occasionally one might 
see stylish carriages standing for hours in 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


front of the humble dwelling of Papa Ques- 
noy. These always attracted the attention of 
the street-urchins and gossips, who would won- 
der what attractions could be found at the old 
man’s store. 

“ Did you see the beautiful lady who called 
at Papa Quesnoy’s?” asked the fruit woman 
of the charcoal seller at that hour of the even- 
ing when gossiping is particularly the fash- 
ion. 

‘‘What! another?” 

“Was it not one of the regular visitors?” 
asked a third gossip who had overheard the 
news. 

“ No, not at all. She was much prettier 
than the rest ; you should have seen her beau- 
tiful dress, and how she drew it together when 
passing through the little gate!” 

“Yes, that’s too narrow for such customers; 
he ought to get a building suitable for the 
‘beau monde.’” 

“ Papa Quesnoy go to any expense ! He is 
too great a miser for that.” 

“ And what do they want with him ? He is 
certainly not handsome.” 

“And gentlemen, too! There came three 
to-day, and with decorations, too.” 

Thus for years the neighborhood had been 


His Wares and His Customers. 


9 


wondering why the old curiosity shop was hon- 
ored with the visits of so many nabobs. This 
astonishment may be explained, however. 
Only an artist can understand the passion of 
some people for antiquities, and not everybody 
is an artist. 

An antiquarian is a peculiar sort of an art- 
ist who, not being capable of producing great 
things himself, is satisfied with collecting the 
artistic productions of those who have gone be- 
fore him, and thus renders important services 
to art. Papa Quesnoy was one of that class. 

He flattered himself, and justly so, that he 
knew his business thoroughly, especially in re- 
gard to the ceramic art. He was not only a 
dealer, but a clever connoisseur and a passion- 
ate collector of the precious and delicate ob- 
jects which made up his principal stock. No 
pains, no fatigue, was too much for him when 
there was question of increasing his knowledge 
of antiquities or of adding to his collection of 
curiosities. He often travelled a long dis- 
tance only to admire some rare old object 
which he knew no amount of gold could pur- 
chase. But admiration is such a sweet enjoy- 
ment ! 

Let us enter the old shop and come to the 
pith of our narrative. On a cold, wet Decern- 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


lO 

ber evening we find Papa Quesnoy examining 
most carefully, both with his naked eyes and 
with a magnifying glass, some cracked cups 
and a teapot of antique shape, which he had 
bought that day at public auction. While he 
is absorbed in his examination let us freely 
look about the place. 

The room honored with the name of ware- 
house measures scarcely fourteen square feet, 
but the quantity of merchandise^ which it con- 
tains is surprising. Not an inch of space has 
been lost. It is difficult to enter the store, and 
almost impossible to move safely between the 
piles of porcelain, faience^ cut-glass, and tables 
loaded with curiosities of all kinds. Along the 
walls there is a great assortment of plates, 
dishes, and saucers, some cracked or fractured, 
of common appearance or discolored by age ; 
others, on the contrary, decorated with fresh 
paintings of landscapes, flowers, and other 
graceful subjects. 

One thing, however, surprises those who 
are not imbued with the sacred fire ; it is to 
see tigly^ inartistic articles (Ah, Quesnoy, par- 
don the heresy expressed by these two words) 
occupy places of honor, thus showing that in 
old porcelain, as in other things, we must not 
judge by appearances. 


His Wares and His Customers. 


n 


But the sanctum contains something more 
than porcelain. 

Leaning against the wall and loaded with a 
quantity of precious little objects of art are 
three large cabinets of sculptured oak to which 
time has given that peculiarly beautiful dark 
shade which is so highly valued by connois- 
seurs ; we need not be artists to admire that; 
the furniture of our forefathers was really of 
matchless beauty. Old paintings, looking- 
glasses with fantastic frames, are standing 
against these cabinets ; clocks of antique form 
decorate the mantel-piece; books of all sizes 
and of all styles are lying on the floor. What 
a wonderful heap, when we think that the best 
of so many authors lies there forgotten at our 
feet. 

It looks as if the most perplexing disorder 
were to reign forever in that store. Yet there 
must be some method amidst this apparent con- 
fusion; the proof of it is that Jerome Quesnoy 
never experiences the least difficulty in find- 
ing what he wants. 

The gossipping women are not wrong when 
they say that Quesnoy is not handsome. He 
is about sixty-five years of age, short and 
stout, with a large head well covered with a 
thick crop of woolly, grayish hair. His big 


12 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


penetrating eyes, though somewhat veiled by 
glasses, have that intensely-concentrated ex- 
pression which is peculiar to those who pursue 
but one object during their lifetime. 

He is habitually gay, pleasant, and of easy 
access, and to-night he seems to be in a par- 
ticularly good mood. While talking to him- 
self, as old men will, he has just taken out of 
one of his bureau drawers a large book soiled 
by frequent use, and compares a mark almost 
blotted out which his penetrating eye has dis- 
covered in the bottom of a cup, with a similar 
mark reproduced on the page open before 
him. 

I was certain of it,” he exclaimed, with an 
air of triumph ; ‘‘ it is old Dresden and the very 
best of it. No mistake about it. What a pity 
it is fractured ! But a little mastic and a good 
touch of the brush will remedy that, and clever 
is he who shall notice it! Well, it was a good 
bargain after all.” 

Hark ! What noise strikes his ear ! Some 
one has timidly knocked at the outer door. 

'^Who is there?” he asked immediately, 
with surprise, for it was long past the time for 
customers. No answer. Yet he cannot be 
mistaken ; he puts aside the cup which he held 
in his hand and goes to the door, which is vio- 


His Wares and His Customers. 13 

lently beaten by wind and rain. He was right. 
A lady with a veil over her face and holding 
a little girl by one hand was standing on the 
door-sill. 

I have been told that you buy old porce- 
lain, sir. Is that so?” asked the lady. 

. Yes, madame, I do; but it must be worth 
buying,” replied the merchant, with a sharp 
look of curiosity at his questioner. It was a 
young woman, tall and slender, with a pale 
and emaciated face. Her velvety eyes had a 
sort of feverish brightness common to the eyes 
of certain sick people. She wore a thin shawl, 
a hat trimmed with crape, and a widow's veil; 
the whole was faded and threadbare. 

The unfortunate woman had evidently 
reached the last degree of misery. The old 
merchant, ^however, was not influenced by this 
sordid appearance, and instinctively he ad- 
dressed the stranger as he was accustomed to 
address the grand ladies who came to make 
purchases at his store. 

Despite her apparent poverty, it was not 
difficult to see at once by the purity of her ac- 
cent, the dignity of her carriage, the elegance 
of her manners, that she. belonged to good so- 
ciety; so true it is that a good education is 
more precious than wealth. We may lose the 


14 


The Brie a-brac Dealer. 


one, the other will follow ns through all the 
vicissitudes of life. 

Papa Quesnoy, who had to deal with all 
sorts of people, had learned to distinguish at 
first sight a real lady from a false one ; in the 
present case, as he said, There is no mis- 
take!'' 

I have here some porcelain which I would 
like to dispose of," said the young widow, and 
took from the hands of her child a large 
leather satchel, evidently too heavy for such 
little arms, but which were better able to carry 
it than were those of the mother. 

‘‘Very well, madame; walk in, please," re- 
plied Quesnoy, drawing to one side to let the 
visitors pass. “Take care where you step; 
there is little room here, and your dress might 
do damage." 

The lady followed the merchant while the 
little girl prudently remained at the entrance 
of the store, looking around with her big black 
eyes which had an expression of seriousness 
and anxiety much above her age. 

“This, I believe, is real china," said the 
widow, taking from the satchel a large bowl 
of pale blue with designs of a darker shade. 

“They call it so, but it is not china," an- 
swered Quesnoy, as he took the bowl and gave 


His Wares and His Customers. 


15 


it a few strokes with his knuckles to make sure 
that it was not cracked. This is simply por- 
celain from India, and of a very common 
quality at that ; it is not scarce ; the market is 
overstocked with it.’' 

“Then, monsieur, you are not inclined to 
buy it?” asked the young widow, while placing 
her trembling hand on the table for support. 

“I did not say so, madame,” replied Ques- 
noy, in a nasal and magisterial tone of voice 
which he affected on such occasions ; “ but I 
can only give you eight francs for it.” 

“Only eight francs!” repeated the stranger, 
with visible sadness. 

“ I cannot give more, madame,” said the old 
merchant, shrugging his shoulders, “without 
being at a loss. But you have something else 
in your satchel? Let us see.” 

With her thin hand of almost transparent 
whiteness, the poor woman took from the 
satchel a plate of beautiful porcelain of blue 
and gold. 

“ I have three more like this one, which I 
shall bring you if you will buy them,” she 
said. 

The pretty plate was evidently not to the 
taste of the merchant of antiquities. An ex- 
clamation of contempt came from his lips. 


1 6 The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 

“Well, no,” he said, “I do not buy articles 
of that kind. This plate has no artistic value ; 
it is not more than ten or twelve years old, 
and of very common material. If it was mine 
I would give it to my wife to use in her 
kitchen.” 

Strange idea! Although Jerome Quesnoy 
was not a bad husband, yet he could not depre- 
cate a piece of porcelain in stronger terms 
than by saying that he would give it to his 
wife. 

The widow seemed to be disheartened. She 
reluctantly took from her satchel the last ar- 
ticle. 

“This is very old, I know it,” she said; “I 
have often been told that it is very valuable.” 

And she presented to the merchant a pitcher 
of a most curious shape. The merchant knew 
its value better than its owner, and though af- 
fecting indifference, in reality the antiquarian 
saw not only a bargain, but an actual prize. 
He examined the pitcher with the most care- 
ful scrutiny : it was old Sevres of a very scarce 
pattern ; on the interior rim and handle was 
painted a garland of roses interlaced with pop- 
pies; beneath, at regular intervals, there were 
butterflies, bees, and beetles. The neck of the 
pitcher represented a man’s head with a long 


His Wares and His Customers, 17 

beard and rosy cheeks and lips. But the prin- 
cipal beauty of the pitcher consisted in three 
exquisite paintings which decorated its exte- 
rior. They represented rural subjects. 

The first showed a group of cows grazing in 
a verdant meadow, and two milkmaids in co- 
quettish costumes. One of these had a milk- 
pail on her head ; the other was being helped 
to lift a pail by a young peasant with long 
hair, dressed ''hla marquis.’' On the second 
painting the cows were lying in the grass, and 
one of the milkmaids, leaning against the trunk 
of a tree, with two milk-pails at her feet, was 
conversing with a young shepherd attired in 
rose-clear-and-apple-green. The third paint- 
ing represented the same maiden milking a 
cow, while the shepherd-boy, seated under a 
tree, charmed her ears with the sweet sounds 
of his flute. 

It was graceful, poetical, effeminate in the 
extreme, Watteau all over. 

Jerome Quesnoy did not give much atten- 
tion to those details which are only interesting 
to the eyes of the common people. He had 
cast a rapid glance over the pretty paintings 
and assured himself by sight and by touch that 
the porcelain had neither flaw nor crack. The 
pitcher was perfect; but what made it more 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


i8 

attractive to the eye of a connoisseur like Ques- 
noy was a well-known mark, the indisputable 
sign of a genuine piece of Sevres. 

Yet Quesnoy was too much of a business 
man to show what he felt in the presence of 
this object of art. He was eager to acquire it, 
but it was impossible to show more self-pos- 
session than he did. 

‘"Yes,” he said, cooly, “this piece is of some 
value. May I ask, madame, what price has 
been set on it?’' 

“ Oh, I do not know,” answered the lady; “ I 
had never thought of selling it, as it is an old 
family souvenir dear to me ; but as I have now 
decided to sell it, I naturally would like to get 
a good price for it. Besides it is really beauti- 
ful, you must confess.” 

“ Beautiful as much as you please,” said the 
cunning rogue ; “ it is not enough for an article 
to be beautiful. Do you see that one, ma- 
dame?” he added, pointing to a little ewer of 
simple form and tarnished color. “ You would 
not believe it, judging by its appearance, but 
I expect to get nine louis for it.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed the widow, in sur- 
prise. “ And why is that?” 

“ It is Venetian faience^ madame, genuine 
old Venetian, with the mark of the factory 


His Wares and His Customers, 19 

which everybody can see ; this is one of the 
rarest pieces, unique, perhaps.” 

‘‘ But this pitcher,” interrupted the stranger, 
anxious to come to terms, “ what do you think 
of it?” 

“ It is a piece of Sevres, madame, and as it 
is neither cracked nor fractured, I will give 
you twenty francs for it.” 

“Not more?” said the stranger greatly dis- 
appointed, for the value set upon the ewer by 
Quesnoy had given her hope of a much higher 
offer. 

“Yes, twenty francs,” repeated the mer- 
chant, “and eight for the bowl, and if you 
wish to get rid of your plates of blue and gold, 
I am willing to give you the round sum of 
thirty francs for the whole. You see that I 
am reasonable, and if I take the plates, ma- 
dame, it is only to oblige you, for it is my 
rule never to buy modern porcelain ; it is not 
in my line of business.” 

The young woman seemed to be lost in 
painful meditation; after some hesitation she 
said with a deep sigh: “Well, then, as there 
is no alternative, I must accept your offer.” 

Jerome Quesnoy did not hesitate a moment. 
Putting his hand into a large pocket he drew 
out a small leather bag from which he took a 


20 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


gold piece and ten francs in change and 
handed it to the lady. 

Do you keep back the price of the plates?” 
she asked, without touching the money, ‘‘or 
do you pay for them in advance?” 

“It matters little, madame,” said the old 
merchant. “I have confidence in you; send 
them at your convenience. I know when I am 
dealing with honest people.” 

“You are very kind, sir,” replied the poor 
woman, with a feeble voice. “My little girl 
will bring them to-morrow morning. We do 
not live far from here.” 

Till then, Quesnoy had scarcely noticed the 
child standing at the door immovable like a 
statue ; now he turned to her. The old mer- 
chant was not easily moved to sympathy, yet 
in this case he could not but feel a sudden and 
singular emotion when he met the serious face 
of the child and saw two big tear-drops tremble 
on her eyelids. 

The little girl could not help weeping; she 
could not be reconciled to the separation from 
her dear pitcher ; she loved it as one loves a 
dear old friend : it seemed to be part of her 
existence. As long as she could remember 
she had admired its paintings and listened 
with pleasure to the stories of the pretty milk- 


His Wares and His Customers, 


21 


maids and the cows as told by her mother who 
always added some new charm to the un- 
changing subject. 

The little girl had nothing in common with 
the ill-bred children whom old Quesnoy saw 
daily in the street. Her face was very pale ; 
her delicate features had a melancholy, care- 
worn expression uncommon to her age; her 
dress, like that of her mother, was threadbare 
but remarkably clean ; there was in her little 
person an air of distinction, an innate grace- 
fulness which her costume brought out to still 
better advantage. 

All this was taken in at a glance by Jerome 
Quesnoy, and, strange to say, he felt ill at 
ease. 

It seemed to him as if those big black eyes 
fixedly centred on him, were reading his 
innermost thoughts, and that the child under- 
stood that he had taken advantage of the 
inexperience and the want of her mother. In- 
voluntarily he turned away his face as if struck 
by fear of seeing his evil deed unveiled. 

It was the first time that a ‘Hucky stroke,’’ 
as the old merchant used to call such bargains, 
excited scruples and reproach of conscience. 
Ever since he was in business his maxim had 
been to buy as cheap as possible and to sell at 


22 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


the highest obtainable price. Why then did 
he turn away his head like a criminal at the 
frank and candid look of that child? 

''Come, Marguerite,’’ said the lady to her 
little girl, giving her the empty bag, "we must 
return home.” 

The poor woman had made only a few steps 
when a violent fit of coughing obliged her to 
halt; she coughed so violently that, out of 
breath and exhausted, she had to lean against 
the partition of the corridor. 

"O mamma, poor mamma!” screamed little 
Marguerite, taking her mother’s hand with 
real anxiety. Then, turning to M.Quesnoy, 
she fixed on him a suppliant look. 

"I will fetch a glass of water,” said the old 
merchant, all confused. " The poor lady ! it is 
pitiable to see her cough so. ” And he directed 
his steps toward the interior of the house. 

" Thank you, sir ; I need nothing, I feel bet- 
ter,” whispered the widow, extending her hand 
to keep him back. " I am sorry to have 
alarmed you; it is nothing serious. I am ac- 
customed to such attacks.” 

" Poor mamma 1 She is so sick and has 
eaten nothing all day!” exclaimed Marguerite 
sadly, and with the confiding simplicity of a 
child. 


His Wares and His Customers. 


23 


“Come, my child, let us go at once,” said 
the young mother, in a quick tone. “ Thank 
you, sir, for your kindness.” And they left 
the shop. 

We have said the evening was damp and 
dark; the rain had ceased, but the icy blast 
which penetrated through the open door chilled 
old Quesnoy. 

“ Poor creature ! She ought not to be out in 
such weather,” murmured the old man, while 
barring the door of the house, quite certain 
that no more visitors would come that evening. 

His wife was in the store. 

“Who is coming?” she asked eagerly. 
“Who in the world has such a cough?” 

“ It is a poor lady from whom I have bought 
some porcelain,” he answered. 

“She must be very sick,” continued Mme. 
Quesnoy. “ I do not like to hear such a cough ; 
I call that a graveyard cough. And what did 
you buy from her?” 

“A fine piece, indeed!” replied the mer- 
chant. 

“Let us see what it is,” said the wife, ad- 
vancing toward the counter. 

Mme. Dorothea Quesnoy had nothing of the 
artistic taste of her husband. She took inter- 
est in the business only because it was a means 


24 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


of making money. In her opinion, modern 
porcelain was far preferable to all that old 
cracked china which Quesnoy took so much 
pains to fix up. 

Nevertheless, she could not restrain her ad- 
miration when seeing the new acquisition. 

Ah, ’’she exclaimed, taking the pitcher in 
her hands to examine it more closely, this 
is really beautiful ! How much did you give 
for it?” 

‘‘Twenty francs.” 

“ And at what price do you think of selling 
it?” 

“ For five or six louis, not less. 

“Is it possible!” she exclaimed, with de- 
light. “ Well, you have had good luck to- 
day; and this bowl, did you buy it also?” 

“Yes, but I do not make much of it. I 
have also bought this plate and three more 
which will be sent. I do not see why I bother 
myself with such rubbish.” 

.“Rubbish! You are difficult to please; I 
find this plate most beautiful,” said Mme. 
Quesnoy. “ When are the others to be deliv- 
ered?” 

“ The little girl will bring them to-morrow 
morning,” he answered distractedly. 

“What little girl?” inquired Dorothea. 


His Wares and His Custo?ners. 


25 


You have not been foolish enough, I hope, 
to pay for plates not yet in your possession. I 
would not know you, if you did.” 

‘^Certainly I did pay for them,” retorted 
Quesnoy, with some humor, ‘'and, moreover, 
I do not believe that I have acted foolishly in 
doing so. I know what I am doing. The 
lady is a person of quality who will keep her 
word, I know. And even if she did not, I 
have made enough profit on the pitcher to 
stand such a loss.” 

“Well, you may run the risk, if you like; I 
admire your confidence,” said his wife sarcas- 
tically. Then, returning to the object of ad- 
miration, she added in a tone of conviction : 

“ You may be proud of that bargain. I con- 
gratulate you.” 

But Jerome Quesnoy did not seem to be quite 
as enchanted with his bargain. And yet, the 
more he examined the pitcher, the more he 
admired it, the more beautiful he found it. 
Why, then, turning and returning it in every 
direction, did he regret having purchased it, 
or, at least, not to have paid more for it? It 
was the thought of the little stranger that 
caused his regret — yes, remorse. Her sad, 
touching look, which seemed to implore his 
compassion, pursued him. He thought of 


26 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


the innocent, ingenuous words which she had 
spoken. Why had her mother not eaten a 
morsel all day? Was she compelled to sell 
her porcelain in order to get money for bread ? 
It looked like it. A sorrowful mystery seemed 
to be concealed in this whole affair. And at 
the thought of having taken advantage of the 
cruel situation of the unfortunate lady to ob- 
tain the pitcher at a mean price, the old mer- 
chant felt a blush of shame creeping over his 
face. 


CHAPTER II. 

DEATH OF M. QUESNOY'S VISITOR. 
FTER leaving the store of the antiquarian. 



^ k the widow and her little girl went slowly 
up the long street of the faubourg. Marguer- 
ite held her mother’s hand, not so much for 
her own protection as for the sake of her 
mother, whose steps were unsteady from weak- 


ness, 


The old gentleman is an honest man, is he 
not, mamma?” she asked, as if she was repro- 
ducing in her thoughts the scene which she 
had witnessed. 


Death of M, Ques/ioy's Visitor, 


27 


“I hope so, darling,'' answered the mother 
with a sigh of fatigue. I trust he has acted 
conscientiously with me, for I am too poor to 
lose one cent of our meagre means. I thought, 
though, that it was worth more than he has 
given." 

What will he do with the pitcher, mamma ?" 
continued Marguerite. 

He will sell it, I suppose." 

And will he give you the money?" asked 
the little girl, artlessly. 

A melancholy smile appeared on the pale 
countenance of the widow. 

‘^Ah, no! my child," she answered; “the 
gentleman has paid me ; he owes me nothing 
more." 

“ And did he give you much money, mam- 
ma? Can you now buy sweetmeats as you 
used to do?" 

“ Ah, no, darling, " replied the mother sadly. 
“ I cannot give you sweetmeats. I shall be 
happy if I can buy bread for a week or two, 
till my strength comes back. May God grant 
that I shall soon be able to work!" 

Marguerite seemed to be quite disappointed. 
She had hoped that the happy days which she 
had known during her father’s lifetime would 
return. 


28 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


But after a few moments she looked up and 
said bravely : 

‘‘Well, I do not care! I can very well do 
without sweets ; and God will take care of us, 
will He not, mamma?” 

The deeply-affected mother asked herself if 
there was in the whole world another child of 
eight years that would have endured with so 
much courage the hard privations imposed by 
cruel necessity. 

“My darling,” she said, pressing with more 
tenderness the little hand which was concealed 
in her own, “ you are my consolation and my 
joy; yes, I trust only in God, who is more 
merciful than men are ; never yet has He en- 
tirely forsaken us. I should perhaps not say 
it, and yet my heart is so sad to-night, so 
sad.” 

They were just then before a beautiful 
bakery, and to Marguerite's greatest satisfac- 
tion, her mother entered. 

It was high time, for since she had men- 
tioned sweetmeats, it seemed to the poor child 
that she felt the pangs of hunger more keenly. 
Her mother bought one of the nice looking 
rolls in the show-window and then she also 
ventured to avSk for a cup of milk. 

“We do not sell milk, madame,” answered 


Death of M. Quesnoy' s Visitor, 


29 


the baker politely, but I have some to spare 
which I will bring you with pleasure/' 

Before eating her roll, which she already 
devoured with her eyes. Marguerite said in a 
low and suppliant tone to her mother: 

^‘Eat some of it, mamma, please." 

‘‘Yes, darling," answered the mother, '‘I 
will try to please you." 

Having taken a morsel of the roll she dipped 
it in the milk, but she could scarcely swallow 
it. 

''You seem to be suffering, madame," said 
the baker in a tone of sympathy. " Have you 
been sick?" 

"Yes, very long, " answered the widow ; " but 
I am getting better. I do not feel so weak this 
evening." 

When Marguerite had done away with the 
last crumb of the little roll her mother gave 
her the rest of the milk to drink ; and paid for 
the whole with one of the pieces of money 
which M.Quesnoy had given her; then she 
rose to continue her journey. The short rest 
in the bakery and the little nourishment she 
had taken seemed to give her new strength. 
She walked more rapidly, and with more firm- 
ness. 

" I thought we were returning home, mam- 


30 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


ma/' the little girl said, when she saw the 
direction they were taking. 

''Not yet,'' answered the mother. And 
they continued their way through the inter- 
minable faubourg. At last they arrived at a 
large square, on the opposite side of which 
there opened a large street which seemed to 
be much frequented. The stores were bril- 
liantly illuminated, particularly those of the 
confectioners and toy-dealers. Marguerite 
looked into the show-windows with envious 
eyes, yet without asking her mother to stop, 
as she feared very much to cause her pain. 

After having crossed a boulevard traversed 
in every direction by carriages and omnibuses, 
they reached an avenue bordered with beauti- 
ful trees, and showing on both sides sump- 
tuous hotels and elegant dwellings. This ave- 
nue was as quiet as the boulevard they had 
just left was noisy. 

" Oh, I know where we are going, mamma : 
to the Champs-Elysees or to Passy !" exclaimed 
Marguerite, remembering that once she had 
taken that route to go to the Muette. 

Her mother, unable to speak, gave a nega- 
tive sign with her head. The poor woman had 
enough to do to fight against the wind which 
was blowing impetuously in her face and 


Death of M. Quesnoy's Visitor. 31 

chilled her to the very marrow of her bones. 
Passing by a street-lamp, Marguerite noticed 
that the face of her mother, generally pale, 
was highly colored, and that her eyes had a 
brilliancy an i vivacity altogether new. How 
fortunate,” she thought. ''Mamma must be 
better ; she has such a beautiful color and we 
have not taken such a walk for a long time. 
It is a pity that the weather is so inclement.” 

They were at the end of the avenue when 
the widow slackened her steps, and at last 
stopped before a large and magnificent dwel- 
ling. 

Something seemed to be going on in the 
house that evening. The fagade was bril- 
liantly lit up, and through the windows many 
people could be seen promenading in the spa- 
cious and richly-decorated salons. As the 
widow was standing on the sidewalk, out of 
breath, leaning against the gilt bars of the 
front gate, the captivating strains of a waltz 
played by an orchestra reached her ears. 

"Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed the little 
girl, quite enchanted. But the effect produced 
on her mother was very different. She trem- 
bled all over and sighed heavily. She had 
come with the intention of knocking at that 
door and of speaking to the master of the 


32 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


house, but she had to desist, as he was giving 
a soiree. She could not take him away from 
his guests, and, besides, she thought that in do- 
ing so she would run the risk of being recog- 
nized by some of the company. This danger, 
though, was merely imaginary, as sorrow and 
privation had altered her features beyond re- 
cognition. Poor woman! her heart failed her ; 
she had made such a sacrifice and all her ef- 
forts were fruitless ; courage failed her to ask 
for that interview which she desired so ardent- 
ly to obtain. And to-morrow it will, perhaps, 
be too late. She trembled at this thought 
and sighed more sorrowfully than before. 

Mamma 1 Mamma ! What ails you cried 
Marguerite. ‘'Are you sick? Why do you 
stay here?'' 

But the mother made no answer, she scarcely 
heard the child ; her • mind was somewhere 
else. She dreamed of the past, of those days 
of gayety and prosperity when she also was 
dancing in these same salons ; when she also 
was as happy, as brilliant, and as much ad- 
mired as the young ladies who now were whirl- 
ing to the strains of the waltz. But that time 
was long past. How many sufferings, how 
many tears, since then 1 The contrast was in- 
deed very bitter. 


Death of M, Quesnoy's Visitor, 33 

Mamma, ” repeated Marguerite, ‘'will you 
not return home? It is so cold here/' This 
complaint had its immediate effect. 

The mother, indifferent to her own suffer- 
ings, was afraid to keep her little girl exposed 
longer to the icy wind which seemed every 
moment to increase in force. She took the 
little hand tendered her, and started to go, but 
she had scarcely made a few steps when a new 
fit of coughing obliged her to stop. Feeble, 
trembling, and breathless, she had to lean 
once more against the railing. 

“Allow me to give you some advice, ma- 
dame," said a kind voice behind her. “With 
such a cough you should not go out at night, 
and especially in this kind of weather." 

The person who thus addressed her was a 
young man of distinguished manners, well en- 
veloped in a large overcoat. He was evi- 
dently a guest invited to the soiree, perhaps a 
physician who, as such, considered himself au- 
thorized to give this friendly advice to the 
sick woman. 

“Thank you, sir, I will hasten home," stam- 
mered the young woman, and she retreated 
with her child. 

The brilliant light of a gas-jet fell on her 
emaciated countenance. The stranger looked 
3 


34 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


at her with the scrutinizing eye of an expe- 
rienced practitioner, and shrugging his shoul- 
ders with a gesture of pity, he said to him- 
self : Poor creature, she is lost!” 

Marguerite’s mother had a vague conscious- 
ness of this sad truth, but she repelled with 
all her might this mournful presentiment. For 
the sake of her child she clung to life, painful 
as it was to herself, and she hoped against 
hope. In spite of her confidence in God, she 
could not bear the idea of leaving her little 
girl, the last joy of her life. What, indeed, 
would become of Marguerite, cast alone at such 
an age on a pitiless world ? 

For a long time, during the long hours of 
her wakeful nights, this question had pressed 
like a heavy weight on the heart of the poor 
mother. Her apprehensions grew more vivid, 
as she felt her weakness increase ; at last she 
had conquered her pride for the love of her 
child; she had resolved to make a supreme 
appeal to the one who had sworn an oath never 
to forgive her. 

And now that plan which had cost her so 
much physical suffering and so much mental 
anxiety, that plan, as we have seen, has 
failed. 

shall return to-morrow,” she thought. 


Death of M. Quesnoy' s Visitor, 35 

“ Cost what it may, for the love of my child I 
shall make another attempt.” 

But she had to return to the faubourg. 

To the nervous excitement which had sus- 
tained the patient on her way to the avenue, 
there had succeeded a complete prostration at 
which she herself became alarmed. Not only 
had all strength left her, but the cough, which 
had become more irritating, kept up shaking 
her feeble and exhausted frame. 

At last she arrived at the faubourg. 

It was late in the evening when Marguerite 
and her mother passed the house of Quesnoy, 
and reached the dark little street where they 
had their lodging. The boarding-house, of 
which they occupied the top floor, stood on the 
corner of the street. They did not reach it 
one second too soon ; the patient had scarcely 
passed its threshold when she was seized 
again with a coughing spell more violent, more 
terrible than she ever had before. 

But suddenly the cough ceased and Mar- 
guerite gave a scream of terror ; the mother 
had fallen against the wall, pale as death, and 
the blood flowed from her mouth. At the 
cries of the child the mistress of the house and 
several lodgers came running in. A scene of 
consternation and excitement followed ; every 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


one busied himself, every one had a different 
advice to give, but no one acted; every one 
asked what was to be done and no one could 
answer the difficult question. After long de- 
liberation they dragged the poor sufferer into 
the nearest room; they put her, still senseless, 
on a mattress, and a neighbor, more practical 
than the rest, resolved at last to call in the 
nearest physician. 

‘‘She will not recover, that is certain,'' said 
Mme. Chabrodie, the hostess, a stout woman 
with a rubicund, shining face. “What ill- 
luck it was for me to give her a room." Mar- 
guerite hears these words. The thought of 
death was already present in her mind ; she 
had seen her father die, and now her mother 
was to leave her also ! She uttered a piercing 
cry of despair and fell on the floor beside her 
dying mother. 

That cry of despair from the only being 
which kept her back on earth seemed to recall 
the mother from her stupor ; her heavy eyelids 
half opened and her glassy eyes rested on her 
child. 

“ May God bless you — Marguerite — my 
little darling!" she murmured slowly. “You 
will not forget the house — your grand- 
father " 


Death of M. Quesnoy's Visitor. 


37 


Her lips were yet moving, but no sound 
came forth, and she again relapsed into a state 
of lethargy. 

''What does she say?” asked one of the 
women. 

"She speaks of a house,” answered Mme. 
Chabrodie. 

" She is evidently delirious. The little one 
has no other home but the asylum, for her 
father is dead. She has no relations as far as 
I know, and she is entirely without means.” 

Such reflections were odious in presence of 
these two poor creatures. The approaching 
death and cruel separation were torturing 
enough, but such is the world! The dying 
mother spoke no more, her eyes grew dim, her 
face became more livid. Marguerite held her 
hand, but the stiff, cold fingers did not respond 
to the loving touch of the child. 

Poor child! She was now all alone. A 
mother's love was no longer her protection. 

When the physician entered, he pushed 
back the women who surrounded the couch, 
but he saw at a first glance that his services 
were of no avail. Death had arrived before 
he had; it had freed forever Marguerite's 
mother from her pains and cruel sufferings. 


38 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


CHAPTER III. 


MARGUERITE. 


N the following day M.Quesnoy waited 



in vain for the three plates in blue and 
gold which the stranger had promised to send 
him; a second day also elapsed. He was 
mortified, mortified especially because he had 
to acknowledge that he was mistaken in his 
judgment and that his wife was right in calling 
him foolish. 

“It is all over, you may go a mourning,’' 
she said at meal-time when inquiring if the 
plates had arrived; “they are lost.” 

And she asserted this in the tone of one who 
speaks an indisputable truth. 

“What do you know?” was Quesnoy’s dry 
answer ; “ the lady may be sick or occupied, and 
momentarily prevented from sending them.” 

“Pshaw! You may imagine so, but I am 
greatly mistaken if you will ever see those 
plates,” repeated Dorothea with provoking per- 
sistency. 

Quesnoy made no reply, but his temper be- 
trayed his feelings. 

He did not care a fig about the plates; the 
pitcher of old Sevres was too good a bargain to 


Marguerite. 


39 


stop to trouble himself about the loss of the 
thirty sous, but he felt humiliated because the 
event did not confirm the favorable opinion he 
had passed on the seller. 

So true it is that when we have formed a 
high opinion of a person, it is painful to dis- 
cover that we have been mistaken. 

To tell the truth, the old antiquarian did 
not forgive the lady for having abused his 
confidence. Had he been logical, he would 
have been more indulgent, as he had first 
cheated her ; but no, the human heart ignores 
such reasoning. We are always inclined to 
exact for ourselves the application of the gold- 
en rule, yet we forget so easily the divine pre- 
cept to do to our neighbor what we would like 
him to do to us. 

The morning of the third day had passed 
without bringing any news of the blue and 
gold plates. Quesnoy no longer concealed his 
disappointment. He became so irritable that 
his wife was seriously alarmed. 

''Assuredly,” she said to herself, "to be in 
such a state of mind, there must be something 
else besides the insignificant loss of the plates. ” 
Although Mme. Quesnoy delighted occasion- 
ally in teasing her husband, she was neverthe- 
less a good and devoted wife. 


40 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


She accordingly watched him attentively for 
a few hours and was soon convinced that she 
had guessed right. 

The impatience of her husband had not only 
a moral cause, it was also and principally pro- 
duced by physical ailment. Two or three 
days before he had been caught in the rain 
whilst going to an auction, and, though feel- 
ing a chill, he did not wish to leave. 

Mme. Quesnoy remembered that circum- 
stance. Who knows,'' she said with anxiety, 
‘‘if there is not some sickness a brooding!" 

Her fears were only too well grounded. Be- 
fore night, her husband had to take to bed, 
and next morning all the symptoms of conges- 
tion of the lungs were manifest. When the 
physician who had been promptly summoned 
informed Mme. Quesnoy that her husband was 
dangerously ill she was overcome with grief. 
She was a small, delicate-looking woman, who 
always saw things in their most gloomy 
aspect. 

After all, there was some reason for this dis- 
position to melancholy ; bad health and deep 
sorrow, the most bitter deception which a lov- 
ing woman can possibly suffer, had affected 
her. Of her seven children not one was liv- 
ing; most of them had passed away without 


Marguerite. 


41 


being able to recognize her love or to call her 
by the sweet name of mother. One girl only 
— a beautiful little girl, weak and delicate like 
herself — had resisted the sickness of her in- 
fancy. During nine years she was the joy, 
the pride, nay, almost the idol, of her parents; 
but just at the time when they cherished the 
hope of seeing her grow strong and robust, 
scarlet fever took her off in a few days, and 
their home was again deserted. 

Twenty years had elapsed since the death 
of little Susie, still the wound of the mother’s 
heart was not healed ; often she imagined she 
heard the graceful prattling of the child or her 
little footsteps, as she went dancing up and 
down the stairs of the old house. The sight 
of a child renewed her grief. In her dreams 
at night the little figure which she had loved 
so much appeared before her, and she started 
up in her sleep, calling the name of Susie. 

As old age added more infirmity to her 
feeble constitution she felt more than ever the 
value of the love and support of a child. 

At the sickness of her husband she had 
reached the height of desolation. She be- 
lieved that he also would leave her and that 
she would be alone in the world. As soon as 
the doctor spoke of danger her heart failed 


42 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


her. Her hopes had so often deceived her, no 
wonder she should give np hope ! 

Yet Mme. Quesnoy tried to conceal her fears 
from her hnsband ; she did not wish to alarm 
him, but he knew her too well to be deceived 
by the apparent calmness. By her anxious 
looks, her red eyes and the heart-rending sighs 
to which she gave vent whenever she thought 
to be far enough from the sick-bed to escape 
notice, he saw that her gayety was forced. It 
was Quesnoy himself who endeavored to keep 
up her courage. 

‘'Be of good cheer, my love,'' he said; “I 
am not going to die yet; your emancipation 
would be too much for you. In a few days I 
will be up again." 

“I hope so, Jerome," she answered mourn- 
fully, as she bathed his fever-burning fore- 
head. But, unable to restrain her tears, she 
slipped out of the room and returned with red, 
swollen eyes. 

On one occasion, almost without knowing 
what she was doing, Dorothea went down to 
the store. The aspect of that deserted place 
and of the small room adjoining, where Ques- 
noy kept his pots of mastic, his tools, his 
brushes, increased her sorrow. Falling on 
the nearest chair, the poor woman covered her 


Ma7'guerite. 


43 


face with her apron and gave free course to 
her sighs and tears. 

She had thus been weeping for a few min- 
utes when she thought she heard a noise out- 
side. She raised her head and listened. No, 
she was not mistaken ; somebody knocked at 
the door. 

Mme. Quesnoy hastily wiped away her tears 
and fixed herself up to go to the door. Great 
was her surprise when she saw a little girl, 
thin, feeble, and dressed in mourning. Her 
face was pale, and her large black eyes had a 
distracted look painful to behold. 

In her apron she had a parcel carefully 
wrapped in old paper. On seeing Mme. Ques* 
noy she started and seemed to be disap- 
pointed. 

'' Whom do you wish to see, my little lady?’' 
asked Mme. Quesnoy, noticing with admiration 
the long eyelashes of the child and the beau- 
tiful locks of her hair which fell gracefully 
over her neck as white as ivory. 

I would like to speak to the old gentleman 
who keeps this store,” replied the child, with 
a tremulous accent. ‘‘ I am bringing the 
plates which mamma had promised him.” 

^‘Oh, very well, my darling; I know all 
about them and will give them to him. ” And 


44 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


Mme. Quesnoy took the plates which the child 
handed reluctantly. 

‘^Can I not see the old gentleman?’' she in- 
sisted. 

“ No, my dear; he is in bed, very sick,” said 
Mme. Quesnoy; ^'but I am his wife, and shall 
give him the plates ; you need not feel uneasy 
about them.” 

However, the child was not satisfied, and 
continued to look at her with an air of per- 
plexity. 

‘'Do you wish something else?” continued 
Dorothea, seeing that the little girl had an- 
other parcel in her apron. 

“ Yes, ” she said, with a heavy sigh. “ Mam- 
ma told me that the old gentleman is an honest 
man, and I would like to ask him to keep 
these books for me; they are my mother’s 
books. I would not like to have them taken 
by Mme. Chabrodie.” 

“Do you live at Mme. Chabrodie ’s?” asked 
Mme. Quesnoy, more and more surprised at 
the strange air and the distinguished manners 
of the little girl. 

“Yes, madame.” 

“ And why did your mother not come with 
you?” • 

“ Mamma is dead,” said Marguerite, in a low 


Marguerite, 


45 


tone. “She died Monday night; and as I have 
nobody to take care of me, they say that I 
must go to the orphan asylum.” Large tears 
had gathered in her eyes ; but, with an energy 
of wdll far above her age, she repressed the 
groans which upheaved her chest. 

“Your mother is dead! — poor little one!” 
exclaimed Mme. Quesnoy, whose sympathy 
was aroused by her own suffering. “ She died 
Monday night, did you say? Was it not on 
Monday she came here and sold to my hus- 
band the pitcher which is standing yonder? 
Are you certain it was on that day, dear little 
orphan of God?” 

Marguerite tried no longer to repress her 
tears, for she could read in Mme. Quesnoy's 
face an expression of love and pity v/hich her 
young heart could not misunderstand. 

“Yes,” replied the girl, very low; “the doc- 
tor said that she burst a blood-vessel.” 

“The poor woman!” sighed Mme. Quesnoy. 
“ No wonder — she had such a cough. I re- 
member how I trembled when only hearing 
her. My God! my God! how sad is our 
life!” 

And she, too, shed tears. She thought of 
the anguish which the mother must have suf- 
fered at th^ thought of leaving without pro- 


46 The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

tection in this world a little creature so deli- 
cate and so charming. 

What is your name, my little angel?” she 
asked, tenderly putting her arm around the 
neck of the child. 

Marguerite,” was the answer. 

‘‘Marguerite what?” 

“Marguerite Albrun.” 

“And you have really no relatives?” 

“No, not one,” said the child, with a deep 
sigh; “and Mme. Chabrodie said I should feel 
happy to be admitted into the house of aban- 
doned children. But I do not know how it is 
in that house — do you, madame ? Do you think 
they will be kind to me there?” 

The touching simplicity of the child went 
straight to the heart of her worthy questioner. 

“I do not know,” she replied hesitatingly. 
Then, irresistibly carried away, she added: 
“ All I can say is that I would not like to see 
one of my children enter the place.” 

“Mme. Chabrodie pretends that mamma 
spoke of that house before her death, but T did 
not hear it, and she never spoke of it to me,” 
continued Marguerite, whose little face became 
more and more gloomy. 

“Poor woman!” repeated Mme. Quesnoy, in 
a tone of compassion, “if she did do so she 


Marguerite. 


47 


must have suffered very much before coming 
to such a conclusion. But I hear my husband 
knock; he wants me. I have to leave you, my 
child. May God forgive me ! You have made 
me forget my poor patient.’' 

Will you take the books?” asked Marguer- 

# 

itc firmly. And she took from her apron an 
“ Imitation of Christ ” and a splendid prayer- 
book, the magnificent binding and gold clasps 
of which showed that it had long and often 
been used. 

“ They belonged to mamma ; they were the 
only ones which she had kept. She sold all 
her other books, but she never wanted to part 
with these, because her mother had given them 
to her. Mme. Chabrodie has taken everything 
we had. She said that mamma owed her 
board for a week, and that the money she had 
received for the pitcher was not sufficient to 
cover all expenses and compensate her for all 
her trouble. I have concealed the books and 
the plates, so that she could not take them. I 
know that mamma had promised the plates to 
the old gentleman, and I thought he would be 
kind enough to keep the books for me. I fear 
I might lose them if I go to the poor-house, 
and this is all I possess of her.” 

‘‘You may depend on it, my child, we shall 


48 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


take good care of them,” said Mme. Quesnoy, 
touched by this mark of confidence. '‘And 
come soon to see me again, will you? Tell 
Mme. Chabrodie not to send you away before 
having seen me; tell her I said so — , I, Mme. 
Quesnoy, of the old curiosity shop.” Mar- 
guerite assented; a brighter expression was 
visible on her delicate features. 

"Good-bye, madame; you are very kind, 
and I thank you heartily.’* 

And, in the enthusiasm of her gratitude, 
she raised her head as if waiting for an em- 
brace. 

At this motion of the child all the maternal 
instincts of Mme. Quesnoy vibrated with un- 
accustomed energy. 

She fondly took Marguerite to her heart and 
embraced her with the most tender affection, 
uttering sweet words that go from heart to 
heart. 

But the repeated knocks from the room of 
her husband recalled the good Dorothea to her 
duties as sick-nurse. 

"Adieu, my darling,” she said; "I can stay 
no longer. Do not fail to come to see me 
again. Adieu. ” 

And, although in a hurry, she watched the 
child going away. 


Qualms of Conscience, 


49 


“Dear angel,” she said to herself, “she 
must be of the age of Susie. And to think 
that such a lovely being should go to the house 
for abandoned children ! It grieves my heart. 
And the mother ! — it is dreadful ! I must tell 
Jerome of all that.” 


CHAPTER IV, 

QUALMS OF CONSCIENCE. 

T T was not without many interior reproaches 
' that Mme. Quesnoy went back to her hus- 
band. 

“ With whom have you been babbling in the 
store?” he asked boorishly; “with a prattler 
like yourself, no doubt. It seems to me that 
for once you might have shortened your gos- 
sip.” 

We have said that M. Quesnoy was not a 
man of bad temper ; but however good-natured 
a man may be he generally becomes intract- 
able when sick. Where is the mother or wife 
who has not experienced this fact? 

“ I talked to the little girl of the other even- 
ing,” answered Mme. Quesnoy, who had the 
good sense not to notice the bad humor of her 
4 


so 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


husband. “She has brought the blue and 
gold plates; and, just think, Jerome, her 
mother is dead!’' 

“What mother? What little girl? What 
do you mean?” said the sick man with increas- 
ing impatience. 

“Why, you know the poor lady who sold 
you the pitcher of old Sevres?” replied Mme. 
Quesnoy. “ The child has brought the plates 
which we had given up as lost ; and if she has 
not come sooner, as we often wondered, it is 
because her mother died that same evening.” 

“What evening?” asked the exasperated 
patient. “I do not understand one word of 
what you say.” 

“Well, it was on Monday evening, the same 
day they came to the store. The poor lady 
lived near by at Mme. Chabrodie’s. She 
had scarcely returned home when she died 
suddenly. You remember how she coughed 
and you told me how ill she looked. The little 
one will be sent to the House of Refuge, as 
she has no relative in this world.” 

A loud groan from her husband changed 
Mme. Quesnoy ’s current of thought. 

“What is the matter?” she asked -with anx- 
iety. “Is your pain in the side growing 
worse?” 


Qualms of Conscience. 


51 


“A great deal worse/’ lie replied, moaning. 

I feel as if a knife pierced my ckest. Oh, 
how I suffer!” 

“Is it possible?” exclaimed his wife, heart- 
broken. “ I will apply another mustard- 
plaster ; perhaps the heat will give you some 
relief. ^ 

And, completely taken up with the care of 
her patient, she forgot all about the little girl 
and her dead mother. 

Moreover, Quesnoy would not have been 
able to answer her ; his faculties were, so to 
say, paralyzed by the intensity of his suffer- 
ings. Yet the few words his wife had said 
made an impression on him and suggested to 
him a thought which he could not banish: 
“ Death, which has so suddenly cut short the 
existence of the stranger, may at any moment 
strike me also." 

The doctor arrived toward evening; he 
looked grave; Quesnoy was worse. Next day 
he was there again very early ; he looked more 
earnest still. The fever had increased, whilst 
the strength of the old man was visibly on the 
decline. 

Doctor Gabriel Belfonds was a handsome 
young man, admired by the world, but who 
possessed in a high degree that gravity and 


52 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


dignity so becoming to the medical profession. 
To a superior intellect he joined a big heart, 
and by his simple, unaffected manners he 
easily gained the confidence of his patients. 
He was at the debut of his career ; his prac- 
tice, still limited, was principally among the 
lower classes ; but wiser than many of his col- 
leagues, who judge of the importance of a 
case by the weight of their patients’ purses, he 
did not consider it beneath his dignity to give 
to the poor his greatest attention and all the 
help of his talent and skill. 

The young doctor was full of the sacred fire 
of his profession, which he considered to be 
the best in the world ; and he was determined 
not to shrink from any sacrifice which the du- 
ties of his profession might impose upon him. 

Gabriel’s friends called him ‘‘ a good fellow, ” 
and never was this often misused appellation 
better merited. 

After having carefully examined his patient 
and given to Mme. Quesnoy the most minute 
instructions, Dr. Belfonds remained in silence 
near the bed. His countenance indicated re- 
flection and doubt. 

Mme. Quesnoy had left the room, and he 
was now at liberty to speak openly to the old 
man; but still he hesitated, not knowing 


Qualms of Conscience, 


53 


whether he should inform him of the gravity 
of his condition or let him run the risk of pass- 
ing away perhaps without perceiving it. 

Quesnoy himself solved the question. I 
am not doing well, doctor,” he said, in broken 
words. “ I have never been so low — all my 
strength is going — yet I hope you will save 
me, will you not, doctor? I am not at the end 
of the rope yet.” 

The doctor could now give a free opinion. 

I do not give up the hope of saving you, 
M. Quesnoy,” he said. have seen patients 
more dangerously ill than you are recover to 
perfect health ; yet I must not conceal the fact 
that at your age pneumonia is always a serious 
thing. Some complications might arise in 
your condition against which science would be 
powerless.” 

Quesnoy's face showed little emotion; his 
eyelids dropped, his lips quivered a second, 
that was all. 

''In any case,” continued M. Belfonds, "you 
would do well, perhaps, to call a minister of 
religion.” 

"Am I so far gone? Thank you, doctor, 
for having warned me; it is always good to 
prepare for that long journey from which we 
do not return.” 


54 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


“You are not afraid to die, M.Quesnoy?” 
asked the doctor, with great concern. 

“No, I am not afraid,” answered Quesnoy, 
with a little boasting. “ Besides, what good 
would it do me? If I have to die I shall die, 
afraid or not afraid. My only grief is at leav- 
ing my poor wife. She has already had so 
much to suffer by the loss of her children, and 
it will be hard to see me depart also. But no 
one can help that.” 

“You are happy in having such an easy con- 
science,” replied the doctor. 

“Certainly. I have not been worse than 
anybody else. I have always worked hard; 
I have earned my bread honestly ; I have never 
injured any one.” 

The old merchant seemed to speak with 
conviction, but whilst he was speaking he had 
before his eyes a gloomy picture — that of the 
poor sick widow and the little girl with her sad 
look. How did he dare to assert that he never 
wronged any one, after having acted toward 
them as he did? 

The stoicism of the old man at the probable 
approach of death was only feigned. He did 
not give up the hope of recovering. The doc- 
tor had said he might get better ; he wanted 
it, he expected it. 


Qualms of Conscience, 


55 


On the other hand, he might die, and the 
thought of this eventful probability did not 
leave his mind. 

The doctor had congratulated him on having 
nothing on his conscience. Surely he could 
not deny that during his long commercial 
career he often sought his own advantage to 
the detriment of that of his neighbor; yet, 
after all, he had been as honest as the common 
run of merchants, if not more so. 

Will God take him to task for some little 
crooked dealing? Will He punish him for 
some petty fault? 

Feeble and suffering as he was, Quesnoy en- 
deavored to make an examination of his ways. 
As we said above, he had not always been 
scrupulously honest in his dealings. But 
where is the merchant who has nothing with 
which to reproach himself in this regard? He 
had often told an untruth in order to persuade 
a customer to make a purchase ; but was that 
really a great wrong? 

His greatest wrong was, without doubt, the 
dishonesty of which he became guilty when 
buying the pitcher of old Sevres. He con- 
fessed it, it was mean not to give the full value 
of the object bought to a poor widow evidently 
reduced to the greatest distress. Should a 


5 ^ 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


similar case present itself lie certainly would 
act differently. Even more, he would com- 
pensate the lady, if it were possible. But she 
was dead. The child, however, was living. 
Could he render her some service ? He would 
do it willingly if a chance presented itself. It 
would, perhaps, be the best way of getting rid 
of his harassing scruple of conscience. At 
last Jerome Quesnoy made a vow, a sincere 
and solemn vow, which he hoped God would 
hear with favor. 

“If I do recover from this sickness,’* he 
said, “ I promise to find out the real condition 
of that orphan, and, if necessary, to come to 
her assistance according to my limited means.” 

Toward midnight the patient seemed to feel 
better He was so quiet that Mme. Quesnoy, 
sitting at his bedside, thought he was asleep. 

“ Dorothea,” he said suddenly, “ do you think 
I have been a bad man?” 

“You a bad man!” exclaimed Mme. Ques- 
noy, with vivacity. “ No, assuredly not, my 
dear. You did not drink, swear, or do any- 
thing bad that I know. You have always been 
industrious, and, as far as I am concerned, I 
cannot reproach you with the least thing. 
Why do you ask me that question?” 

Quesnoy gave a sob. 


Qualms of Conscience, 


57 


There are some things in my life which I 
should never have done,” he murmured. “If 
I do recover I shall try to do better.” 

“Ah! Jerome, do not speak thus,” said his 
wife, in tears; '‘you pierce my heart.” 

“Do not weep, dear,” replied the patient 
calmly. “ If I die you will not be without 
bread, and that is a consolation. I have saved 
something; there is money at the savings 
bank, at the Credit Foncier. I have some 
state bonds, and the stock of our store is worth 
a nice round sum of money.” 

“Ah! my dear, what is money to me if I 
must lose you? I hope I shall follow you 
soon. If little Susie were living things would 

be different perhaps; but to be all alone ” 

Her last words were lost in convulsive sob- 
bing. 

A heavy sigh, caused both by physical and 
moral suffering, came from the lips of the old 
man. 

“Was it really worth while,” he thought, 
“ to have toiled and saved all his life if now he 
had to abandon everything? Of what use are 
now to him the rare porcelains, the old furni- 
ture, of which he had been so proud?” 

He closed his eyes, breathed heavily, and 
after some time fell asleep. But his sleep was 


58 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


restless. His wife, always at his bedside, 
noticed his every movement ; she heard him 
speak in a low voice ; leaning toward him, she 
could distinguish these words : 

The little girl 

‘'Poor man!” said Mme. Quesnoy, “he is 
thinking of our Susie.” 

But Mme. Quesnoy was mistaken. No, it 
was not the pale face nor the sad and implor- 
ing eyes of Susie which were haunting old M. 
Quesnoy. 


CHAPTER V. 

marguerite’s mother. 

I T was on a Sunday evening that Dr. Belfonds 
had the serious conversation with the old 
antiquarian which we related in the preceding 
chapter. When leaving his patient the young 
doctor went up the boulevard, with the inten- 
tion of going to a lecture to be given by some 
great man on the liberty of thought, that can- 
cerous wound of modern society which no 
physician is able to cure. 

Whilst walking along at a rapid pace he 
thought over the symptoms of his patient and 


Marguerite' s Mother, 


59 


tried to guess at the issue of the disease. He 
took great interest in Quesnoy. He had been 
called to see him several times before, and 
being himself a lover of old porcelain he had 
often been at the store to converse with the 
old hric-a-hrac dealer and to admire his curi- 
osities. Quesnoy ’s originality and bluntness 
of manners had pleased him, and he would 
have given a great deal to save his life. Ga- 
briel Belfonds, although having made brilliant 
medical studies, was not one of those who see 
nothing beyond matter, and who imagine to 
give proof of a transcending intellect by deny- 
ing everything outside the domain of positive 
science. He did not admit, like many of his 
colleagues, that the human heart is only a 
big muscle,'" without the least relation to our 
affections; and although he had not seen a 
“soul,” he was far from denying its existence. 

But the thoughts of the young physician 
presently took another course. 

He had reached the long avenue which the 
poor widow had followed with her child a few 
hours before her death. The doctor, we have 
said, was going to an anti-materialistic lecture ; 
but he was not going there alone; and the 
thought of his companion, who was perhaps 
waiting, made him hasten his step. 


6o 


The Brlc-a-hrac Dealer. 


Having arrived at the beautiful house with 
the railing which had given support to the sick 
lady, he rang the bell, and when the servant 
opened the door he entered with the freedom 
of one who feels himself at home. 

‘'At last!’' exclaimed a fresh laughing 
voice as he opened the door of the dining- 
room. “I began to think that one of your 
tedious patients was going to keep you away. 
I did not like the idea of giving up the lecture 
to-night. Not that I expect to enjoy your — I 
was going to say preacher instead of lecturer 
— for it is only a sermon ; but no matter, Gab- 
riel; I am glad you came.” The person who 
thus addressed him was a charming young 
lady eighteen years of age. Her black eyes 
were glittering with delight. An expression 
of pride and happiness easy to explain ap- 
peared on the face of the young gentleman. 

“Thank you, Hortense,” he said. “You 
were sure I would come, were you not? 
Where is uncle?” 

“ Oh, papa has already gone. You know he 
likes to get a good seat and to be there on 
time,” answered the young lady, laughingly; 
“besides, we must not complain, for he will 
reserve our seats. I thought I would wait for 
you to button my gloves. I know you are in- 


Marguerite ’ s M other. 


6i 

comparably skillful. Nobody can button a 
glove as well as you, my dear cousin.” 

When Gabriel was bending familiarly over 
the aristocratic little hand stretched out to him 
to button the perfumed glove which imprison- 
ed it, every one could see that Gabriel Belfonds 
joined to his quality of cousin a title still 
sweeter, which endeared him still more to the 
charming little person who had requested his 
services. 

Hortense was the daughter of General Mal- 
bregue, and among her many admiring suitors 
she had selected the young doctor as her fut- 
ure husband. 

Her father, a man of stiff and haughty man- 
ners, was of opinion that she might have done 
better, but he was not opposed to her choice. 

Besides, as we have seen, Belfonds belonged 
to the family on the mother’s side; moreover, 
if he was a learned scholar, he was also a per- 
fect gentleman, and his uncle had unwillingly 
yielded to the charm exercised on him by the 
young doctor. 

And then — and then — let us say it in a 
whisper, for the subject was never spoken of — 
General Malbregue had had in his family a 
terrible example of the danger of resisting be- 
yond reason the will of an ardent and ener- 


62 


The Bric-a-hf'ac Dealer. 


getic young girl, especially when she has not 
been wisely directed by an intelligent mother. 

For this reason he thought it more prudent 
to allow Hortense to follow freely the impulses 
of her heart. 

Those who had not known the Malbregue 
family very long thought that Hortense was 
the only child. Such was not the case. The 
general had another girl by his first marriage, 
but for years there was no mention made of 
her, as her father had cast her off. 

The story of Marguerite Malbregue is 
quickly told ; it is the story, unfortunately so 
frequent in the world, of a self-willed, disobe- 
dient girl who revolts against the authority of 
a domineering and unjust step-mother. Mar- 
guerite was twelve years old when her father 
married again. This was her first grief. 

She had loved her amiable mother with that 
exclusive and passionate tenderness natural to 
a young heart. She could never forgive her 
father for having been less faithful than her- 
self to that idolized and better-deserving mem- 
ory; and when, after the lapse of only one 
year, she saw him contract a second marriage, 
the blow was terrible. 

There arose between father and daughter a 
fatal misunderstanding. The general loved 


Marguerite' s Mother. 


63 


Marguerite ; he understood the emptiness 
caused by death in that young existence ; he 
justly felt that he was not the man to fill that 
gap and to replace what cannot be replaced. 
He thought the only remedy was to give his 
child a second mother, and this he did as soon 
as the opportunity came of making an advan- 
tageous marriage. 

Marguerite looked upon her father as selfish, 
cruel and heartless. 

Alas! M. Malbregue’s wrong was not per- 
haps so much in the marriage as in the choice 
he made. 

The second Mme. Malbregue was by no 
means of a conciliating disposition, and seemed 
in every respect to be the opposite of the first 
one. It soon became evident that she and her 
young step-daughter would not easily agree. 
Marguerite, who had never left her parents, 
was sent to a boarding-school. 

During six years she was only occasionally 
at her father’s house. Mme. Malbregue, am- 
bitious to be supreme mistress, had always 
managed to make her spend the vacation at 
the distant house of her mother’s parents. 
Yet the day came when this state of things 
was to come to an end. The young lady was 
more than of age to leave school, and under- 


64 The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 

stood too well the motive of her exile. She 
came home, but not under circumstances nec- 
essary to make life at least bearable, if not 
agreeable. She felt the wrong of having been 
isolated from her home, and was bent on mak- 
ing the principal author thereof pay dearly for 
this injustice. 

A little sister, and two brothers still in the 
cradle, had been born during her long absence. 
Marguerite might have loved them, for she 
was naturally affectionate and devoted; but 
she was so profoundly irritated against Mme. 
Malbregue that she closed her heart to the lit- 
tle ones only because they were her children. 

The general's house had become the theatre 
of daily scenes of contentions. The dissen- 
sion between mother-in-law and daughter-in- 
law was the only topic of conversation. 

Among the relatives of the family several 
took the latter's part; among others, Mme. 
Grandjean, sister of the general, who, since 
her husband's death, had come to live with 
her brother, and who appreciated the lovely 
qualities of her niece. 

Marguerite was of remarkable beauty and 
charming in society. Mme. Malbregue hoped 
she would soon marry and then leave the 
house ; but the young lady, as if guessing the 


Marguerite' s Mother, 


65 


thoughts of her mother-in-law, and unwilling 
to give her that satisfaction, seemed in no 
hurry to give up her independence. Besides, 
the suitors who pleased her father were not to 
her taste, and those who pleased her were in- 
variably refused by the general. 

At last the mortified and wounded heart of 
Marguerite made a choice, but a choice which 
brought consternation into the family. The 
young man was only clerk in a banking house, 
and although of rather distinguished and cap- 
tivating manners, which might have justified 
Marguerite’s choice, there were certain ru- 
mors circulated detrimental to the integrity of 
his character. 

These rumors and his social inequality gave 
to M. Malbregue a certain right to refuse the 
wish of his daughter. But he offended her 
by his way of doing it. Instead of reasoning 
with Marguerite and trying to gain her over, 
little by little, to his own conviction, he com- 
manded her rudely and peremptorily to give 
up a marriage too nonsensical and too ridicu- 
lous, he said, to be discussed at all. This 
was the drop of water that made the vessel 
overflow. 

The noble daughter of M. Malbregue was 
proud, and contradiction went against her 
5 


66 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


grain \ moreover, she was irritated by constant 
quarrels, brought about, as she thought, with- 
out cause. She determined to make a sensa- 
tional move. She was twenty-one years old 
and had a sniall fortune left her by her mother. 
She resolved to assert her independence, to 
escape paternal authority and to shake off the 
tyrannical yoke of her step-mother. She 
secretly rented an apartment in the house in- 
habited by her aunt, Mme. Grandjean; and 
profited by the short absence of her father to 
have transported thither not only her personal 
effects but also many articles which had be- 
longed to her mother. 

The conduct of his daughter naturally 
grieved the general to the very core of his 
heart. He never could forgive his sister for 
having encouraged the young lady to make 
that foolish, uncalled-for step; and he held 
her responsible for the events which followed. 
These events were easily foreseen. 

After a few months, the imprudent Mar- 
guerite, in defiance of her father’s orders, re- 
spectfully sent in a legal petition, and on the 
expiration of the legal time, contracted the 
marriage which he so vigorously condemned. 

The disapproval of M de. Malbregue was un- 
fortunately but too well justified. 


Marguerite ’ s Mother. 


67 


A few weeks after the marriage most serious 
discoveries were made at the bank of S. M. & 
Cie. A cleverly conducted system of em- 
bezzlement came to light. A rigorous exam- 
ination was made, and the culprit was found 
out to be no other than M. Alb run, the un- 
worthy husband of Marguerite, who escaped 
the hands of justice by a hasty flight. 

The general, seeing his name implicated in 
such a scandalous affair, almost lost his mind. 
He thought he was dishonored, and his anger 
against his daughter knew no bounds. 

He forgot that she was too innocent to sus- 
pect perversity in others, and he showed no 
mercy in her cruel and unexpected affliction. 
He took an oath that in future she was noth- 
ing to him, that he would neither see her nor 
hear her name pronounced. 

His only wish was to forget that he had a 
daughter so ungrateful and so unnatural. 

This was in perfect accord with the desire 
of Mme. Malbregue, who was in her glory. 
The general’s wishes were gratified. Mar- 
guerite’s name was never pronounced, and he 
never saw her again. 

As for her, cast off by society, which has re- 
gard only for success, pointed out as the wife 
of a thief, and almost cursed by her father, she 


6S 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


had but one resource, namely, to leave the 
capital where life had become unbearable to 
her. 

How could she live in abjection and aban- 
donment where formerly she had been sought 
and idolized by everybody? What became 
of her? Nobody knew. Some thought she 
had joined her husband in America; others 
whispered that she had been seen in London ; 
but the mystery was never cleared up, and 
finally she was forgotten by all. And why 
think of her? Was she not unfortunate ? It 
requires courage to remember the unfortunate. 

Time had gradually healed up the deep 
wound which the pride of the general had re- 
ceived. As for his heart, nobody knew to 
what degree it had suffered. The haughty 
and cold reserve of M. Malbregue did not al- 
low any one to judge of his feelings. He had 
forbidden all to speak of his oldest daughter 
in his presence, and his order was respected. 
She was therefore as much as dead to him ; but 
no, the comparison is not correct, for gener- 
ally the memory of the dead is lovingly kept 
up by the living, whilst M. Malbregue did his 
best to efface from his memory the remem- 
brance of Marguerite. 

The bank affair had been hushed up imme- 


Marguerite' s Mother. 


69 


diately ; the directors of the bank, in deference 
to the family of the general, had given up the 
pursuit of the embezzler. It is not surpris- 
ing, therefore, that nine years later, viz., at 
the time of our narrative, this whole deplor- 
able history was forgotten except by those 
who had been actors in it, or by that class 
of people who seem to keep in their mem- 
ory a register of all the events which do not 
concern them. Gabriel Belfonds, though 
brought up in the province, intimately con- 
nected with the Malbregue family, had only a 
dim knowledge of the facts which we have re- 
lated, and even his bride could not have given 
him much information on the subject. Being 
only a small girl at the time of Marguerite's 
marriage, she remembered her half-sister as a 
remarkably handsome young lady who had 
often excited her childish admiration, but of 
whom her mother, who died two years later, 
never spoke but in a whisper, and only to rec- 
ommend to her not to follow her example. 
What had become of that sister? She did not 
know, and, to tell the truth, she never troubled 
herself about it. Selfish by nature and a 
spoiled child, Hortensewas contented with her 
lot and satisfied; her father had never been 
very demonstrative toward her, but, on the 


70 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


other hand, he had always treated her with 
boundless indulgence, and especially since the 
death of her mother. The young girl had 
no other rule to follow than her own will. 
Although the beauty of Hortense Malbregue 
was not to be compared to that of her older 
sister, yet she was a pretty little brunette, 
graceful, playful, captivating in the extreme. 
Gabriel Belfonds therefore was right to think 
himself the happiest of men after having made 
the conquest of a heart priceless in his eyes. 

He had rented a house not far from the res- 
idence of the general, and expected in a few 
weeks to comfortably settle down with his 
young wife. How bright and rosy the future 
presented itself to him ! On their way to the 
lecture that evening the young couple’s topic 
of conversation was their future home, the im- 
provements they would make, their bridal trip 
away from the cold mist of Paris, and so on, 
and so on ; so that Gabriel had lost for a mo- 
ment the very memory of old Quesnoy and his 
sickness. 

Yet during the discourse of the eminent lec- 
turer, to which he gave all his attention, whilst 
Hortense was all distraction, the visit he had 
made before came back to his memory. On 
their way home he still thought of it. And as 


Marguerite* s Af other. 


71 


his cousin teased him for being so taciturn, he 
frankly told her the reason of it. 

It was the first time that he forgot him- 
self in her presence. She did not like him to 
mention a subject of so much gravity; she did 
not care to be initiated into the details of his 
profession, of that horrible profession for 
which she had the greatest disgust. Gabriel 
had violated the rules of etiquette in speaking 
to her of a subject so trivial, so repugnant to 
her elegant and refined taste ! 

How unbecoming ! 

Yet Hortense felt that she owed him an an- 
swer. 

Who is this old man in whom you take such 
great interest?” she asked. The doctor was 
obliged to her for the apparent sympathy she 
expressed. He immediately related to her all 
he knew about the old hric-a-brac dealer. He 
gave an amusing description of what he styled 
his '‘shop,” and the young lady, forgetting 
her ill-temper, listened with contentment — nay 
more, she accepted gracefully Gabriehs invi- 
tation to visit the curiosity shop of the old man 
and to select some of the objects of art for 
their future parlor. 

"On the express condition, however, of his 
speedy and thorough recovery,” said Hortense. 


72 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


I have a perfect horror of sick people, and if 
anything could have made me hesitate to marry 
you it is that you must visit them. I wish, 
Gabriel, you were not a physician and had 
not to look constantly at all sorts of horrible 
things. I know it gives you the blues, and 
will make you melancholy. No; I need not 
put it in the future tense ; if you were not so 
already you would not have spoken to me as 
you did that evening.’’ 

'‘Well, well,” replied Gabriel, smiling at 
this singular imputation, " I am neither mel- 
ancholy nor on the road of becoming so ; but 
you must grant, my dear Hortense, that a doc- 
tor has to look at life from a serious point of 
view.” 

"Well, yes, let it be so; but don’t exact the 
same thing from me,” she replied jokingly, 
although she thought so at heart. " I detest 
seriousness in everything. I do not want my 
life to be serious. I want it to be gay. Re- 
member, therefore, you must not speak to me 
again, of the sick, the dying and other mourn- 
ful subjects, otherwise ” 

" Well?” 

"Otherwise I will not marry you.” 

Although those words were uttered with an 
air of tricky raillery which showed what im- 


Marguerite s Mother, 


73 


portance should be attached to them, yet they 
pierced like a pointed weapon the good and 
generous heart of Gabriel. 

For no earthly reason would I ever dis- 
please you, dear Hortense,” he replied, with 
some sadness in his tone of voice. If your 
life is not a happy one it will be through no 
fault of mine, believe me. But if you love me, 
never tell me again, I beg you, that you regret 
that I am a physician; this grieves me too 
much.” 

am sorry,” she replied, but you can 
easily prevent that by never speaking to me 
of anything concerning your profession, which 
I will not now qualify ; and you ought to thank 
me for it, too. And now I have something 
most interesting to tell you. Papa has tickets 
for the ball which will be given next week by 
the Artist Club. Of course you will accom- 
pany me. What would I do without you? I 
am so happy ! I will take in all the amuse- 
ments possible before settling down to be an 
austere and grave madame.” 

'' Do you think you will ever attain such a 
dignity?” asked Gabriel sarcastically, admir- 
ing the fresh-looking face turned toward him. 

I don’t know and sometimes I am afraid 
not,” she replied, with a silvery smile. ''But 


74 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


what do you say about the ball, Gabriel? You 
will come with us, will you not?’' 

'‘With pleasure, if it is possible,” said the 
doctor. "You know how happy I am to be 
your obedient cavalier.” 

They had now reached the house of M. 
Malbregue. Gabriel Belfonds, as a rule, 
spent Sunday evenings with the general and 
his daughter. He was about to enter when a 
messenger requested him to attend a patient 
without delay. 

"How provoking!” murmured Hortense, as 
he left hastily; "one is never sure of him. 
Why did he embrace this horrible profession?” 

She went in, discontented and vexed. Gab- 
riel also was disappointed ; he felt as if there 
were a burden on his heart. 

The manner in which Hortense had an- 
swered him when speaking of Quesnoy went 
sorely to his heart. Was he mistaken in the 
hope of finding in his betrothed what a man 
of heart and of sense expects to find — a friend 
who takes an interest in all his occupations, to 
whom he can speak freely on everything that 
interests him, and who will administer to him 
consolation in the midst of his cares, fatigues 
and contradictions, inseparable from his medi- 
cal career? Will she always love above every- 


Marguerite' s Mother. 


75 


thing else the distractions and pleasures of the 
world, and will she persistently close her eyes 
to the serious side of life? 

No ; Gabriel could not, would not, believe it. 

He was too fondly attached to the young 
girl to admit that she was selfish and frivol- 
ous. Obliged to see, to feel her failings, he 
excused them, extenuated them with the most 
tender indulgence. She was so young! In 
time she will become wiser, more composed, 
more practical. After being married he was 
sure to find in her all he could desire, and a 
great deal more than he would ever have dared 
to dream of. 

O, what a witch youth can be! — and illu- 
sion, what an enchantress! 

Thus Gabriel Belfonds was reasoning with 
himself whilst directing his steps toward the 
house, where his presence was desired. He 
now tried to drive the subject from his mind, 
but it was in vain; the painful impression 
which he had received could not be completely 
effaced. 


76 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


CHAPTER VI. 

A CHANGE OF HEART. 

HE illness of Jerome Quesnoy turned out 



A not to be as severe as its first symptoms 
gave reason to fear. On Monday morning the 
doctor found a slight change for the better in 
the condition of his patient. A favorable turn 
set in, and in a few days M. Belfonds could 
announce to Mme. Quesnoy that her husband 
was out of danger. 

The joy of the good lady knew no bounds 
when she saw that all her terrible apprehen- 
sions had disappeared. 

More than ever she was all care and atten- 
tion to Quesnoy. And although she gener- 
ally received in return only meagre thanks or 
some words of impatience, her solicitude lost 
nothing of its habitual tenderness. 

‘^Men are all the same,” she said, with a 
gracious smile; ‘Hhey are only big children. 
They endure better great suffering during 
their illness than little inconveniences during 
their convalescence. Poor fellow! after all he 
has gone through it is no wonder he should be 
a little peevish.” 


A Change of Heart. 


77 


And what of Quesnoy now? Had he forgot- 
ten, as many do forget, the resolutions made 
on a sick-bed when health has been restored to 
them? 

No, he had not forgotten it ; he often 
thought of it and intended to put it into exe- 
cution as soon as his strength and leisure 
would permit him to do so. 

To be sure, now that death had retreated, 
his conscience no longer reproached him so 
severely for the wrong which he had done to 
Marguerite’s mother; he was not in so great a 
hurry to make restitution ; he postponed it till 
an opportunity would offer itself. Yet the old 
man was sincere in his determination to gather 
more particulars regarding the little orphan, 
and to make himself useful to her. 

It should have been quite natural for Ques- 
noy to communicate his projects to his wife, 
one might suppose ; but no, he felt the greatest 
reluctancy to say a word to her on the subject. 

She did not understand, he thought, his re- 
morse for having paid so little for the pitcher 
of old Sevres, nor the interest he took in a 
child, who after all, was a perfect stranger 
to him. Besides, was it necessary that she 
should read his innermost conscience ? 

Yet, if he did not breathe a syllable regard- 


78 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


ing little Marguerite, he was most anxious, on 
the contrary, that Dorothea should resume the 
subject she had introduced at the beginning of 
his illness, and to which she had never since 
alluded. Where was the child? What had 
become of her? Did his wife know it? He 
was very anxious to hear it, but obstinately 
feigned not to care to know it. This state of 
things seemed to prolong itself indefinitely; 
for, although Mme. Quesnoy was often think- 
ing of the orphan, she was far from guessing 
her husband’s preoccupations, and kept a pro- 
found silence regarding her own. She did not 
wish by mentioning that subject to recall to 
her dear patient his store, his business; she 
avoided it all the more carefully as perfect rest 
was necessary to Quesnoy. He was but too 
prone to lament over the loss in business inci- 
dent to his sickness, a loss which it was not 
his pleasure to exaggerate. 

Through a sort of business jealousy he had 
never taken an assistant, so that for three weeks’ 
rest, despite the good will of his wife, who did 
all she could to satisfy the customers, the sales 
were almost nothing. 

The old antiquarian was most impatient to 
see his treasures again ; he expected to see the 
store topsy-turvy, and was heartbroken at the 


A Change of Heart. 


79 


thought of finding, no doubt, his most beauti- 
ful pieces broken, his wife not being able to 
distinguish old Dresden from old Sevres. 

But Dr. Belfonds had so strictly enjoined ex- 
treme prudence, that he did not dare to vio- 
late the order not to leave the room. 

Day after day Mme. Quesnoy expected to see 
Marguerite return as she had promised, and 
the good old lady began to think that the child 
had been sent to some orphan asylum. 

Since her husband had become convalescent, 
she was often tempted to run over to Mme. 
Chabrodie's boarding-house to find out what 
she was so anxious to know, but she never had 
a moment’s leisure. During the day the store 
kept her in, and at night Quesnoy became so 
impatient and irritable that in conscience she 
could not leave him alone five minutes. 

Thus, without saying a word about the or- 
phan, both husband and wife were constantly 
thinking of her. At last they came to an ex- 
planation. 

It was Sunday evening, and the store had 
been closed all day. Mme. Quesnoy was with- 
out anxiety in regard to business; her hus- 
band’s health was steadily improving; for the 
first time he had gone down to the back room, 
and, sitting in his big arm-chair near the 


8o 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


fire, had taken his supper with excellent ap- 
petite. 

The happiness which was again shining on 
his face reflected itself on that of his wife. 

While thus looking at him with a tender 
smile on her lips, the thought came to her 
that now she could conveniently leave him for 
a few minutes to go to the boarding-house for 
news regarding Marguerite. Jerome,” she 
said suddenly, with some embarrassment, not 
knowing how he would take her proposition, 
''Jerome, next Thursday will be Christmas 
Day, you know.” 

"Why, yes, I know it too well,” he replied, 
with a sigh. "This illness has been very 
long! It is time to resume my business, and 
that seriously, too, in order to make good the 
losses of last month.” 

" You will soon be able to go about as usual,” 
replied his wife gayly. " I hope we shall com- 
mence the new year happily — and that poor lit- 
tle girl — who knows what kind of a New Year’s 
Day she will have? Did I ever tell you, my 
dear, that she brought the books that had be- 
longed to her mother to keep them for her?” 

"Whom do you mean?” asked Quesnoy, 
with affected indifference. 

" Why, you know, that little girl who brought 


A Change of Heart. 


8i 


the three plates of blue and gold, and who told 
me at the same time that her mother was 
dead,” replied Dorothea. 

^‘Yes, I remember,” was his brief answer; 
“but what about the books you have men- 
tioned?” 

“ I will tell you,” said his wife, only too glad 
to have a chance of speaking at last of a sub- 
ject so dear to her heart. And she related to 
her husband, with the minutest detail, all 
that Marguerite had told her in the store. 

“ I earnestly begged the poor child to come 
back to see me,” she said at last, “and to tell 
Mme. Chabrodie not to send her to the home 
for abandoned children; but as she has not re- 
turned, it is evident that they were in a hurry 
to get rid of her. This Mme. Chabrodie is a 
woman of no principle ; this is no way of do- 
ing, and I even think that she has ill-treated 
the dear little thing.” There was a moment 
of silence on both sides, each one trying to 
gain the cause at issue. 

“She said I was an honest man?” continued 
Quesnoy indifferently. “Well, she is greatly 
mistaken, the poor child.” 

‘^How so? What do you mean, Quesnoy?” 
exclaimed his wife in surprise. “ What queer 

notions you have in your head since you were 
6 


82 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


sick. If you are not a good man, my dear, I 
don’t know where to find one.” 

The old man shook his head significantly, 
and became restless in his chair. 

‘‘ I would like to see the books she has 
brought,” he said, after a long pause. ^‘To 
think that she had the idea of confiding them 
to me, that beautiful little damsel !” And the 
old man gave a sigh, for he felt unworthy of 
the simple confidence of the child. 

You are like me — you find it nice on her 
part, don’t you?” continued his wife, ‘‘and 
you only saw her in passing. If you knew 
how lovely she is ! I thought I saw our little 
Susie. It grieves my heart to think that she 
was put with the abandoned children. But I 
will bring you the books, Jerome.” She left 
the room ; her husband remained alone rumi- 
nating over an idea which had* crossed his 
mind. 

“Would I be foolish,” he asked himself, “to 
consider the matter in its different phases? 
To be sure my wife would be enchanted. I 
think she would say yes without coaxing if I 
asked her; I shall, therefore say nothing to 
her until I am quite decided.” 

Mme. Quesnoy’s return interrupted his medi- 
tation. She brought the books; it was an 


A Change of Heart, 


33 


'' Imitation’' and a splendid missal with vig- 
nettes of great artistic value. The two vol- 
umes were bound in purple morocco, with a 
border and clasps of vermilion. 

Quesnoy turned and turned the books before 
opening them, examining the binding as if to 
find out how much it might have cost. At 
last he opened the prayer-book. 

“ Give me my glasses, wife,” he said, there 
is something written on the blank page ; we 
will probably learn the name of the child.” 

‘'But I know it already,” answered Mme. 
Quesnoy, handing him the glasses ; “ she told 
me that her name was Marguerite Albrun ; not 
a difficult name to remember, indeed.” 

But the name which the old man had some 
difficulty to decipher, the ink being almost col- 
orless, was not Albrun. At the top of the 
page were these words written in very fine 
letters : 


“ Marguerite de Malbregue, 

From her affectionate mother.” 

Beneath, there was a date going back twenty 
years. 

“ De Malbregue ! De Malbregue!” said the 
pensive old man. “ I have never known any- 


84 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


body by that name, as far as I can remember. 
Have yon, my wife?’’ 

“ Nor I,” replied Mme. Qnesnoy, “bnt as the 
girl said that the books had belonged to her 
mother, De Malbregue must have been her 
maiden name.” 

‘‘I tell you one thing, Dorothea,” continued 
Quesnoy, in the tone of a person whose opin- 
ion is law, only people of quality use books 
like these. I was right, therefore ; I was cer- 
tain when I affirmed that Marguerite’s mother 
was a lady co^nme il faut. As soon as I saw 
her I recognized her as such. There was in 
her person a something which only belongs to 
the grand monde, 

“Yet, my dear, she must have been very 
poor,” objected his wife. “The girl’s dress 
was worn out and mended. And then, you 
must confess, that the house of Mme. Chab- 
rodie is the last place where you would look 
for a lady of quality.” 

“I do not deny that,” replied the old man 
bluntly. “ I did not pretend that she was rich ; 
far from it, poor lady ! But I maintained that 
she belonged by birth to what they call high 
society. It was a person who evidently has 
suffered great vicissitudes of fortune.” 

“The poor woman!” sighed Mme. Quesnoy. 


A Change of Heart. 85 

'' And to think that her child has to be brought 
up at the expense of public charity/' 

While thus talking, Quesnoy had opened the 
'' Imitation” and glanced over its pages. It 
was not for the first time that he had a copy 
of it in his hands ; many an old edition of it 
had passed through his store. He had bought 
them and sold them without knowing anything 
of their contents, and even without troubling 
himself about knowing it. He knew that the 
ministers of religion recommended the work as 
most valuable for teaching how to do good and 
avoid evil. 

As he carelessly perused the volume, his 
eyes fell on a certain passage which went 
straight to his conscience like an arrow from a 
sure hand. An involuntary shivering went 
through his whole frame as he read its sen- 
tences. It was a passage bearing on the widow 
and the orphan, and of the lot awaiting those 
who wrong the little ones. 

‘'What an extraordinary coincidence!” said 
Quesnoy to himself, while the memory of the 
particular sin which had so much disturbed his 
conscience on his bed of suffering came back 
with renewed intensity. 

One thing was clearly expressed in what he 
had read : “ God is angry with those who are 


86 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


unjust to the widows, and who rob the or- 
phans/' And he was guilty of both. Divine 
vengeance was suspended over his head. 

But he had confessed his guilt and was re- 
pentant; he had solemnly promised to com- 
pensate the child for the injury done to the 
mother, and he was going to keep his prom- 
ise ; yes, he was ready to keep it at any cost, 
since God Himself seemed to command it. 
He closed the book and gave a loud, deep sigh. 

What is the matter, Jerome? What troub- 
les you? Do you feel worse again?" cried the 
poor woman, prone to be alarmed. 

Something very serious is the matter, 
wife," he replied. ‘^What do you think he 
must do who has committed a great fault?" 

^^Well, he must try to make reparation, I 
imagine," said Mme. Quesnoy, surprised to be 
asked for her opinion. But what do you 
mean, Jerome? You do not speak of yourself, 
do you?" 

‘‘Yes, of myself; I have committed a horri- 
ble deed, and I want you to help me to make 
reparation for it." 

“What can it be?" stammered Dorothea, 
with increasing surprise. 

“I am thinking of that child," he said, in a 
tone of voice which betrayed great agitation of 


A Change of Heart, 87 

mind. “ I have robbed her mother shame- 
fully.” 

And as Dorothea made a sign of absolute 
denial, thinking that his mind was wandering 
again, he continued warmly: 

Yes, I have robbed her, robbed her like a 
highway robber. Let us call things by their 
real names. That pitcher of old Sevres which I 
have bought from her was worth at least five 
louis, and I only gave her one — only one. You 
see, wife, I am a miserable thief. She looked to 
be poor, unfortunate, half-starved ; she could 
scarcely hold herself up, and I had the cour- 
age to cheat her! It is mean, it is infamous! 
Since then I have not had a moment’s peace.” 

Mme. Quesnoy remained silent, her eyes 
fixed on those of her husband ; his words were 
a revelation to her. Strange to say, till now 
she had not in the least regretted the “ good 
bargain” which Quesnoy had made to the det- 
riment of Marguerite’s mother. 

She had always considered it as perfectly 
natural and licit for her husband to depreciate 
the articles offered to him, and to get them at 
the lowest price. Was that not permitted? 

Although Mme. Quesnoy in a moment of 
great suffering had spoken of money with a 
certain air of contempt, yet she observed the 


88 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


strictest economy, which indicated disposition 
of a different kind. She took great interest 
in her husband’s business, and was highly 
gratified to think that his little capital grew 
larger every year. 

But during the illness of the old antiqua- 
rian, her selfish and exclusively material ten- 
dencies had been constrained. 

The visit of Marguerite, arousing in the 
soul of Dorothea maternal instincts that had 
long been dormant, brought out again the bet- 
ter and noble side of her character. 

How often has not a child had the power of 
transforming by its inspiring tenderness the 
character and the life of a woman ! 

Such was the case with Dorothea. Light 
had already begun to dawn in her soul. '' It 
is certain, Jerome, that you have been some- 
what hard toward that poor lady,” she said at 
last. It is strange that I never thought of 
it before. Poor creature ! She must have 
been in great need of money. Yes, it is a 
pity you did not give her more. I understand 
your remorse ; if it had been a rich person, it 
would not be so bad. It is only right to draw 
as much as possible from a rich man, and you 
would do no business otherwise; but from a 
poor widow, it is not right.” 


A Change of Heart. 


89 


It is never allowed to injure any one, rich 
or poor,” said Quesnoy, whose moral sense had 
become enlightened by the serious reflections 
he had made. ‘‘ But to return to the mother 
of that little girl, I am ashamed of my con- 
duct. I am repentant of my fault and at pres- 
ent I am asking myself what I can do for the 
little one.” 

“O Jerome!” exclaimed his wife, in a trans- 
port of enthusiasm, if you would like it ” 

He raised his hand as if to command silence. 
She stopped. 

Wait a little, my dear, ” he replied. Hear 
first what I have to tell you, then we shall see 
if we are of the same opinion. Do you know 
that since my illness I have often, very often, 
thought of our Susie.” 

‘'And so have I, Jerome,” interrupted Mme. 
Quesnoy, with tears in her eyes. 

“ How long is it since we have lost her? Do 
you remember?” 

Does she remember it? What a question 
for a mother ! 

“ I should think so, my dear. It will be 
twenty-one years next February, the fifteenth, 
at 10 o’clock in the evening,” she said with 
precision. 

“So long!” said the old man, with a sigh; 


90 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


‘^how years pass by! Susie was nine years 
old when she died; had she lived, she would 
now be just thirty. She might be the mother 
of the little black-eyed darling.” 

Poor Dorothea was beside herself ; not only 
did she not understand the drift of Quesnoy’s 
thoughts, but she could not picture to herself 
her child as a woman of mature age ; to the 
mother little Susie had remained, and always 
will remain, little Susie. 

‘'But let us come to the point,” continued 
Quesnoy, coughing to conceal the embarrass- 
ment. “ If Susie had died at the age of thirty 
and had left a child, we would bring it up as 
our own, would we not? Why, then, not do 
the same for the little orphan who is nothing 
to us, it is true, but who deserves to be taken 
care of, for she is not an ordinary child — she is 
too nice for that.” 

“Oh, my dear husband, I understand you 
now!” exclaimed his wife. “You would like 
to bring the little one into our house to re- 
place Susie — . But no, this is not what I 
mean ; Susie cannot be replaced ; but you think 
of adopting Marguerite?” 

“ Well, how would you like it?” 

“ Nothing could please me more,” said Mme. 
Quesnoy, fondly embracing her husband. 


A Change of Heart. 91 

^‘You know I am passionately fond of chil- 
dren. But yon, are you sure you will like it? 
Do you really speak seriously?’' 

Why such a question after all I have 
said?” answered the old man, somewhat im- 
patiently. 

''Well, because I have often heard you say, 
and it grieved my heart, that it was most for- 
tunate we had no children to run round in the 
store and break your porcelains.” 

"Did I really say that?” asked the antiqua- 
rian ; " I do not remember it, but it is possible. 
Well, let us hope that the little darling will 
break nothing. We can take her on trial, and 
if in a week or two we see that it will not do, 
we shall send her back. Well, why do you 
weep, my dear?” 

"I weep for joy,” said Dorothea, wiping the 
tears from her eyes. "You have had a good 
thought, and I do not think you will ever be 
sorry for it. But we have not a moment to 
lose ; it is over two weeks since the child has 
been here. I fear that this good-for-nothing 
Mme. Chabrodie has already sent her off and 
put her into some asylum. If you are not 
afraid to be alone for a few moments, I will go 
and find out where the child is.” 

"Go, make haste,” responded the old man; 


92 The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, . 

when a thing is decided, it is best to do it at 
once/' 

In a few moments Mme. Quesnoy had pnt 
on hat and shawl ; she had recovered her juve- 
nile agility. 

When she had closed the door behind her, 
the old merchant, stirring his fire, began to 
reflect on the decision he had taken in too 
great a hurry, perhaps. Was it not absurd, 
hasty, foolish? A few weeks ago he would 
have been incapable of committing such an 
act. And yet the old man could not bring 
himself to regret his decision. Quite the con- 
trary ; he felt an interior satisfaction which he 
had never experienced before. Waiting for 
the return of his wife much longer than the 
few moments of which she had spoken, he felt 
as much impatience to see the little orphan 
come to his house as he formerly did to be- 
come the happy owner of some faience of Ven- 
ice, or of some vase of Chinese porcelain. He 
was himself surprised at his extraordinary 
sprightliness. 

Thus, Jerome Quesnoy commenced to keep 
his promises. He had made a vow on his sick 
bed that if he should recover he would be- 
come a different man. He already felt the 
change. He did not know the theory of com- 


The Plan is Car7'ied Out. 


93 


mencing a new life, but he had taken the right 
direction ; he was walking on the road to light. 
He crept out of his selfishness, out of that 
miserable ego which is the plague of our so- 
ciety. 

He advanced only step by step, it is true, 
and with timidity, yet he already felt a thou- 
sand times happier than when he was incarcer- 
ated in the narrow prison-cell of his petty in- 
terests and complete indifference to all that 
was not self. 


CHAPTER VH. 

THE PLAN IS CARRIED OUT. 

T he old antiquarian commenced to feel 
seriously alarmed at the prolonged ab- 
sence of his wife. 

What could keep her so long? It was but a 
few moments’ walk to Mme. Chabrodie’s; evi- 
dently she must have gone somewhere else. 

At last he hears a carriage stop at the door, 
and in a few moments Dorothea appears all 
radiant with joy, and triumphantly carrying in 
her arms something like an enormous bundle. 
I have her, my dear, I have her, and not 


94 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


without trouble!’’ she exclaimed, putting down 
gently her burden on the carpet before the 
warm fire-place. 

I shall return presently,” she added. ''I 
have only to settle with the driver.” 

The bundle began to move; a tiny white 
hand tried to lift up the shawl, and when it 
had partly succeeded, Jerome Quesnoy saw 
two large eyes sternly peep at him. 

‘‘ Well, my little darling, how do you feel?” 
he said, leaning toward the young face with 
those beautiful black eyes. 

The child smiled faintly, but did not dare 
to answer. 

Then Quesnoy noticed how much she had 
changed; her emaciation was painful to be- 
hold ; her eyes were dim and heavy-looking. 

At that moment Mme. Quesnoy, lively and 
gay as she had not been for a long time, came 
back to the room. 

Her husband eagerly asked her in a low 
voice: ''What in the world has happened to 
that child? She looks to be very sick.” 

"Yes, the poor darling is sick,” answered 
Mme. Quesnoy indignantly, "and if you had 
seen in what condition I found her, you would 
be surprised to see her alive at all. Imagine, 
Jerome, she was lying in a garret, a horrible 


The Plan is Carried Out, 


95 

black hole where the wind blew in from all 
sides through the roof. It was cold enough 
there to freeze her very bones. As for the 
dirtiness of the place, it is simply incredible ; 
there were at least four inches of dust on the 
floor. The poor creature had only a heap of 
rags to sleep on, and for covering a piece of 
blanket as thin as a cobweb ; the sheets I will 
not mention. 

'' Mme. de Chabrodie asserts that the child 
took sick about two weeks ago, but nothing 
will make me desist from the belief that she 
made her slowly die of hunger. I had to get 
a carriage to bring her here ; she was not able 
to walk a step, and I did not feel strong 
enough to carry her even that little distance.'* 

Then approaching the child she said: 
‘‘Well, darling, take courage! I am going 
to get some soup for you ; that will give you 
strength." 

She had soon warmed a cup of excellent 
broth which had been prepared for her hus- 
band. Taking the child on her lap she gave 
her spoonful after spoonful of that warm and 
nourishing beverage. Old Quesnoy, reclining 
in his arm-chair, watched the touching scene 
with the liveliest interest. 

To the great satisfaction of both, Margue- 


96 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


rite did not refuse to take nourishment; on 
the contrary, she evidently relished it. When 
she had finished her little meal, she tried to 
sit up and look around, but she was too feeble, 
and her tired head fell back on Mme. Ques- 
noy's bosom. 

'‘Poor little darling!’' murmured the old 
man with the most tender emotion. 

“ How fortunate that I went for her this 
evening, Jerome,” said his wife; "it was high 
time. I really believe that Mme. Chabrodie 
had forgotten the very existence of the child, 
and had not given her a morsel to eat all day. 
Besides, she had taken too much drink, as 
usual, and was thundering in the most horri- 
ble language against the little beggars left to 
her charge.” 

At the mention of Mme. de Chabrodie ’s 
name Marguerite opened her eyes ; an expres- 
sion of fright was visible on her face. 

" Oh, do not send me back to her, 1 entreat 
you!” she said suppliantly. " Do not send me 
back!” 

"No, no, darling; don’t be alarmed,” an- 
swered Mme. Quesnoy, pressing her still closer 
to her heart. "You will never again see that 
monster of a woman, if I can help it. Look 
here, Jerome,” she said, turning to her hus- 


The Fla7i is Carried Out. 


97 


band, “ how thin she is, the poor little 
thing.’’ 

^'She had nothing to spare,” replied the old 
merchant, remembering that painful expres- 
sion which had attracted his attention the first 
time he saw the child. 

No matter. I hope she needs nothing but 
good nourishment, care, and caressing.” 

‘'That shewdll have,” answered the antiqua- 
rian, smiling at his happy wife. 

“She will, indeed,” said the old lady, ca- 
ressing the curls of the little brunette. “ Now 
I will take her to our room and put her into a 
good warm bed.” 

Marguerite was taken with unspeakable con- 
tentment into the arms of her new friend, who 
pressed her once more with maternal tender- 
ness to her heart, and then carried her up- 
stairs. 

When Jerome Quesnoy followed, half an 
hour later, he found Marguerite peacefully 
asleep in the bed which Susie had formerly 
occupied. It looked as if old times had come 
again. The old man stood still under the 
spell of a strange emotion ; it seemed to him 
as if he had all at once grown twenty years 
younger. 

“Come, look at her, Jerome,” said his wife, 
7 


98 


The B?^ic-a-brac Dealer. 


in a low voice, “ she is so lovely, despite her 
emaciation !” 

In fact, the intelligent care of Mme. Ques- 
noy had already produced satisfactory results. 
Marguerite seemed to be better. She had 
scarcely laid her head on the soft white pillow 
when she fell asleep with a smile on her lips 
that revealed the joy of her heart. 

The more Quesnoy looked at her, the more 
his heart became oppressed, and although he 
boasted of being a freethinker, tears came to 
his eyes. 

'' Does it not seem as if Susie had come back 
to us?” he said, with a husky voice. 

Not quite,” replied his wife, who, although 
happy at present, was still jealous of the mem- 
ory of the dear departed one but in remem- 
brance of our own darling we will be kind to 
this little orphan, will we not, Jerome?” 

“Oh, yes,” he replied, and his words were 
the true expression of his thoughts. 

Mme. Quesnoy was right in saying that Mar- 
guerite only needed rest, care, and affection. 
Badly nourished, ill-treated, and in constant 
fear of punishment, the poor child had fallen 
into a kind of marasmus which would soon 
have carried her off. 

“I am very glad to be here,” said Mar- 


The Plan is Carried Out. 


99 


guerite next day, while M. and Mme. Qnes- 
noy, standing at her bedside, watched her 
with considerable interest as she took her milk 
and bread for breakfast. 

“Yes, I am very glad to be here,’* she re- 
peated with charming ingenuity. “ I believe, 
Mme. Qtiesnoy, that it was God who sent you 
after me. I prayed to Him every day, but I 
had commenced to fear He had forgotten me, 
for I was all alone and miserable; yet, you 
see. He has remembered me at last, since He 
has sent you to me.” 

“Yes, my darling, and you need not fear 
that you will feel want with us,” answered 
Mme.Quesnoy, who, not understanding that 
infantile profession of faith, became more and 
more convinced that after her own Susie, Mar- 
guerite was the most marvellous child that 
ever existed. 

Quesnoy said nothing, but drooped his head 
with profound humiliation. He learned from 
that little orphan how empty had been his 
past life without faith, without prayer, with- 
out God. Even the abandoned child was hap- 
pier than he. 

It was a pleasure to see Marguerite return 
to life again, so to say, under the genial in- 
fluence of the sun of goodness and affection. 


lOO 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


After three days she was able to run through 
the whole house as if she never had done any- 
thing else, and although her face still showed 
some traces of fatigue, it was radiant and full 
of life. 

Owing to that happy mobility of impression 
which is characteristic of childhood, the little 
girl had already forgotten the bitter days she 
had experienced and gave herself up entirely 
to the enjoyment of her present happiness. 

Christmas had come. Jerome Quesnoy had 
gone down to the store very early. Not ex- 
pecting to do much business on that day, he 
intended to put his porcelains in order. 

It was a glorious morning. The church- 
bells were ringing merrily and the streets 
were filled with people in festive attire going 
to attend divine service. 

Suddenly Mme. Quesnoy opened the door; 
she seemed to be quite agitated, and with her 
forefinger on her lips, as if to command si- 
lence, she said in a very low voice: ‘'O Je- 
rome, I wish you would hear our little one. 
She is singing so sweetly the same words 
which our Susie used to sing. I do not re- 
member where she had learned them.'' 

‘‘Indeed!" And the old man went cau- 
tiously to the door to listen. 


The Plan is Carried Oict, 


lOI 


Marguerite was in the back room. Mme. 
Quesnoy had given her a dear relic — a doll 
which had belonged to Susie. The child was 
delighted with her present ; she still had the 
doll on her lap, but without looking at it ; her 
big eyes seemed to roam pensively in space, 
while she sang like an angel : 

“Jerusalem, my happy home, 

How do I sigh for thee ! 

When shall my exile have an end? 

Thy joys when shall I see? 

An hour later, Mme. Quesnoy, leading Mar- 
guerite by the hand, was on her way to a 
church in the middle of the avenue which 
Mme. Albrun had followed on the last evening 
of her life. The little girl remembered it and 
she spoke touchingly of that sad walk, and of 
her dear mamma always present to her mem- 
ory. 

^^She is now in that happy Jerusalem of 
which I have been singing this morning,'' said 
the child, lifting her eyes toward heaven. “ I 
felt like singing. As this is a feast-day on 
earth, it must be a still greater one in heaven. 
She is happy, no doubt, my dear mother, and 
thinks of me as I think of her." 

After breakfast Jerome Quesnoy went back 
to the store, but he did not stay there long. 


102 


The B7'ic-a-brac Dealer. 


His treasure was not there. The little orphan 
had become the centre of his affections. It 
was his delight to watch her cunning looks 
and graceful manners. His admiration was 
only equalled by his tender love for her. Fre- 
quently he would whisper to his wife : 

Did you notice what pretty little feet Mar- 
guerite has? They belong to the aristocracy 
only, do you know?” 

Or again : 

Look at her thin fingers and tiny ears ; 
really they are like shells of rose-leaves. In- 
deed, that child is like a beautiful piece of 
Sevres porcelain. She is of fine quality, or 
else I am no judge.” 

Mme. Quesnoy smiled at her husband’s en- 
thusiasm ; but at heart she was not less proud 
of the little adopted child than he. 

There was another reason for astonishment. 
Marguerite was a perfect reader. Mme. Al- 
brun had taken great pains to teach her little 
girl how to read well. Marguerite pronounced 
every syllable clearly and correctly ; moreover, 
she read with so much feeling and natural ex- 
pression that it was a pleasure to listen to her. 

Jerome Quesnoy did not know much about 
books. Since he had commenced business, he 
only read some special works on ceramic art, 


The Plafi is Carried Out. 


103 


putting aside all other books as idle stories, 
unworthy of the attention of an antiquarian of 
his superiority. 

Marguerite took one of her mother's books, 
those cherished books, which she kissed with 
reverence on seeing them again. Unlike so 
many little girls who make a face when they 
are told to read a serious book, she opened 
the ‘‘Imitation” and read one of her favorite 
passages. “And now,” said Marguerite, clos- 
ing the book, “would you like to hear me re- 
cite what mamma has taught me, and what 
she liked so much?” 

“Very much indeed, darling,” answered the 
good lady, almost in ecstacy. 

Then with a fresh, clear voice, the little or- 
phan recited one of Lamartine's sweetest odes. 

When she had finished she looked with sur- 
prise at her silent adoptive parents. 

“ Don't you like that?” she asked, somewhat 
disappointed. 

“ Indeed, it is most beautiful, my dear,” an- 
swered Dorothea, who admired more than she 
could understand. 

“What is the meaning of that last verse,” 
asked Quesnoy, in order to convince himself 
that the child knew the meaning of what she 
had recited, “ ‘To breathe in our true abode?'” 


104 Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 

''The abode is heaven!” exclaimed Margue- 
rite, without hesitation. 

"Heaven?” repeated the old man, "where 
is heaven?” 

A radiant vSmile illumined the face of the 
child; she clasped her hands with fervor and 
hex eyes looked up instinctively : 

"Heaven,” she said, with profound respect, 
" is the dwelling of God and of those who have 
loved Him on earth. It is that 'beautiful home’ 
of the hymn which I like so much. 

"Mamma is in heaven, I am sure, and do 
you know, Mme.Quesnoy, I think that your 
dear Susie, of whom you have told me such 
beautiful things, must be there also.” 

"It is quite possible,” said Dorothea, trying 
to conceal her tears. The old man, likewise, 
was more moved than he would have liked to 
admit. 

The festive day was thus spent in joy and 
happiness, and to all it seemed that it had been 
of too short duration. It was late when Mme. 
Quesnoy and Marguerite went to their sleep- 
ing room, while Jerome remained sitting near 
the fire, humming again and again : 


“Jerusalem, my happy home.” 


The Potter s Art, 


105 


CHAPTER VIIL 

THE potter’s art. 

OUR porcelains are dusty, M.Quesnoy,” 



^ said Marguerite, on entering the store 
next morning; “why do you not clean them?” 

“ For three reasons, my dear,” answered the 
old man, with a benevolent smile. “ First, 
because it would take more time than I can 
spare; then, because I would run the risk of 
breaking them, which I do not like; lastly, 
because my articles are changing so often that 
it is not worth while cleaning them.” 

“ Mamma would not have liked to see any- 
thing dirty in our house !” remarked the child. 
“ I am very good at cleaning. I always had 
to help to keep everything in good order, and 
if you wish, I shall keep all this nice and clean 
for you.” 

“No, no, my little lady, many thanks,” an- 
swered the merchant, smiling. “ Better let 
well enough alone, says the proverb. You 
are one of your sex ; you like to clean and to 
move things around ; but I would not like to 
trust my precious porcelains to such tiny little 
fingers.” 


io6 The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

'' I would have been careful not to break 
anything; mamma said that I was not awk- 
ward/’ replied Marguerite, somewhat mortified 
at the refusal of her offer. 

Suddenly she gave a shout of joy. She had 
seen the pitcher of old Sevres which Quesnoy 
had conspicuously placed on the edge of the 
window-sill. 

'^Oh, what happiness! There is mamma’s 
pitcher!” she exclaimed. 

And before Quesnoy had time to notice what 
she was doing, she had it in her hands and 
touched it with her lips. How full of dust!” 
she continued, looking fondly at the pictures. 
‘‘ What a pity! Let me dust it, I beg you, M. 
Quesnoy ; I know how mamma used to clean it. ” 
Well, let us see,” answered her old friend; 
“go, ask grandmamma for a piece of linen.” 

Marguerite ran off like a young deer. In 
an instant she returned with a dusting-rag, 
an air of consequence on her face. 

“Be very careful,” said M. Quesnoy, who 
was not without uneasiness while the pitcher 
was in the girl’s hands. “It is a beautiful 
piece, worth a great deal of money,” he said. 

“Indeed! How much?” said Marguerite, 
with interested curiosity. 

The old merchant turned his head aside 


The Potter' s Art. 


107 


without giving an answer. How awkward! 
Once more the bright looks of the child 
brought the blush of shame to his face. 

Mamma did not want to sell it/’ continued 
the little girl, without noticing that Quesnoy 
did not answer her question. 

Silence again. 

''She loved it dearly, because she had it 
from her mother ; but as she had no money, 
she was glad you bought it from her. She 
called you an honest man.” 

"She was greatly mistaken,” said Quesnoy 
bluntly. 

The child looked amazed ; she would not 
believe her ears. 

"What, ” she said timidly, "you are not an 
honest man, M. Quesnoy?” 

"No, no, far from it,” he replied energeti- 
cally. 

There was a moment of silence ; Marguerite 
seemed to be ill at ease. 

"But you wish to be honest?” she contin- 
ued, lowering her voice. " Mamma said that 
nobody can boast of being good ; it would be 
wrong to think that we are good. God only 
wants us to try to become so. You will try 
to, will you not?” 

"Yes, certainly. For some time I have had 


io8 


llie Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


a strong desire to be good,” said Quesnoy, 
more to himself than to his little questioner, 
whose whole attention was again centred on 
the pitcher which she was cleaning with the 
utmost care. 

It is done !” she exclaimed, after a few min- 
utes. ‘‘See, M. Quesnoy, does it not look bet- 
ter now that it is clean?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said the old man ; “ you have 
put it in tip-top condition. Now take it back 
to its place and be careful to set it straight.” 

“Will you allow me to dust it everyday?” 
Marguerite asked, placing the precious vase 
on the same spot where she had found it. 

“Yes, if you always do it with the same 
care,” answered Quesnoy. 

From that day Marguerite’s first visit in the 
store was to her “ old friend,” as she called the 
pitcher. It was always with pleasure, nay, 
with a sort of pride, that she acquitted herself 
of her voluntarily assumed task, for the pitcher 
was to her of as much value as to the old 
dealer, only for a different reason. 

Marguerite used to spend several hours a 
day in the store, and Quesnoy found in her 
such an intelligent and agreeable companion 
that he became more and more attached to 
her ; he, who formerly dreaded the presence 


The Potter s Art, 


109 

of a child in his '' sanctuary/' felt unhappy 
when she was not near him. She had to call 
him '^grandpapa/' and he cherished her as if 
she had been his little granddaughter. This 
mutual affection was still more cemented by 
an interest common to both. 

'' Grandpapa, " said Marguerite one day, com- 
ing home from school, '' the teacher has told 
us that you are well versed in ceramic art. 
Will you explain to me what that means, if 
you please?" 

Ceramic is the common name given to the 
different kinds of artistic faience^ pottery, and 
porcelain." 

‘‘Oh, yes, I understand. You are indeed 
well informed, knowing everything as you 
do," answered the little girl. 

^^No, not everything," objected Quesnoy, 
pleased, however, with the homage paid to his 
learning. 

Not everything, but certainly many things. 

I have heard you give all kinds of names to 
porcelain. Where was porcelain first made, 
grandpapa?" 

Many countries claim this honor, and for 
that reason there are so many different kinds 
of it. But that is of no interest to you, dar- 
ling; you had better go and play with dolly." 


no 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


Pardon me, grandpapa ; it interests me 
very much. For a long time I* have been anx- 
ious to learn something about porcelain. Tell 
me all you know about it,” said Marguerite, 
caressing the old man, who always gratified 
her wishes under such circumstances. 

“ The history of ceramic art is a long one, as 
it dates back to the remotest antiquity. The 
oldest peoples had pottery, or baked clay of 
which they made pots as the women still do in 
Algeria. These pots were first used in relig- 
ious ceremonies, hence the idea of decorating 
them, roughly it is true, yet with comparative 
taste ; afterward they were used for domestic 
purposes.” 

'' By whom, grandpapa? By the French?” 

'' No, darling; by the Chinese, who are con- 
sidered to be the first makers of all kinds of 
pottery. They made it over 4,500 years ago.” 

And when did they commence to make por- 
celain?” 

'' Oh, long before our era ; two hundred 
years before.” 

“And from whom did the Japanese learn 
it?” 

“ Probably from the Chinese. I will tell 
you an amusing story relating to that fact. 
The introduction of this wonderful art led the 


The Potter s Art, 


III 


inhabitants of a certain island, called Maury- 
Ga-Sima, or island of Maury, to become puffed 
up with pride. Their island was extremely 
fertile, and among other natural treasures, it 
yielded admirable clay for the manufacturing 
of 7nurrhm vases, which we now call porcelain 
vases. This was an immense source of reve- 
nue for the islanders, who surpassed all others 
in the art of pottery. Their work was eagerly 
sought for and brought its weight in gold. 
These people could, therefore, enjoy every lux- 
ury, which is only too often a misfortune for 
man. Their vices and their contempt of re- 
ligion aroused the anger of the gods, who re- 
solved to submerge Maury-Ga-Sima. The 
king of the island, called Peiruun, I believe, 
was the only virtuous and honest man; the 
gods loved him, and in a dream warned him 
to quit the island as soon as he would see the 
faces of the idols at the entrance to the temple 
turn red. The king immediately made known 
to his subjects the danger which threatened 
the island and the catastrophe which was to 
befall it ; but they all laughed at his credulity. 

“ A sorry jester one night took it into his 
head, in order to ridicule the king’s admoni- 
tions, to daub the faces of the two idols. Pei- 
ruun noticed it and at once took to flight in 


I 12 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


his galleys with all his household. He had 
not yet reached China when the whole island 
disappeared, burying in the deep the jester 
and all those who had made light of the king’s 
admonition, together with all the precious 
vases amassed in the factories.” 

“Oh, grandpapa, did that really happen?” 

“ I do not know, child ; all I can say is that 
the island once existed, that at low tide there 
are vestiges of it to be seen, and that divers 
are engaged in the difficult work of recovering 
the submerged imirrhins. On account of a 
thick layer of shells, to which they have be- 
come attached, it is not easy to distinguish 
them, and it is also hard to loosen them ; for 
they stick to these shells as if soldered on.” 

“What do they do with them, grandpapa?” 

“ They are cleaned, but some of that layer 
is left untouched, so as to attest their antiqui- 
ty, which makes them very precious.” 

“ Have you not one to show me?” asked the 
little girl, casting at the same time an investi- 
gating look all around the store. 

“ What do you think ! Those vases are ex- 
tremely rare and it would take more than your 
grandpapa’s pennies to buy one of them. 
They are worth three times their weight in 
gold.” 


The Potter' s Art, 


113 

Marguerite listened with delight. 

‘‘And then?” she asked. 

“And then? What do you mean?” 

“Continue; this is so interesting. So the 
porcelains of China and Japan are the oldest. 
But who brought them to France?” 

“The Dutch; after the discovery of the 
Cape of Good Hope by Vasco di Gama; these 
people were the first to establish commercial 
relations with the extreme east. They intro- 
duced into Europe vases of porcelain which at 
first were only to be seen on the tables of 
kings and princes of royal blood. 

“ Next Thursday, darling, should the weath- 
er be fine, we shall ask grandmamma to ac- 
company us to Sevres, where you will see how 
they make a snow-white paste to which they 
give any shape or ornament they may fancy, 
and then bake it for some time in an oven. 
You will then be much wiser than the grand 
seigneurs in the time of Francis I. 

“ Those big lords, who admired very much 
the new kind of table utensils, had the 
strangest notions concerning their origin. I 
will only give you one instance. A real scien- 
tist, by the name of Pancerole, discovered that 
porcelain was made of a mixture of plaster, 

sea-shells, and the white of eggs, the whole to 
8 


The Bi'ic-a-bi'cic Dealer. 


114 

be buried in the ground eighty years before it 
could be used.” 

Marguerite laughed heartily. 

‘‘ And do you not believe, grandpapa, that I 
prefer listening to your stories to playing with 
my doll?” she asked the old man, again ca- 
ressing him fondly. “Tell me some more.” 

M. Quesnoy smiled. 

“Well, as it amuses you so much, I will tell 
you how the clay for making porcelain was dis- 
covered. They had found out that porcelain 
was only a finer kind of pottery than that al- 
ready known, and they tried to imitate it; but 
they could not find the exact clay for it. Do 
you remember how often you have seen in 
your picture-books the great seigneurs with 
enormous powder€;d wigs?” 

“Yes, grandpapa.” 

“ A quantity of powder was needed for these 
wigs ; wheaten flour was used, but it was too 
dear. They tried to find something cheaper. 
One day, a master blacksmith, passing near 
d'Auc, in Saxony, noticed that the hoofs of 
his horse were sinking into a white clay of 
striking quality. He took a certain quantity 
of it, dried it, and used it as wig-powder. The 
trial proved to be a success, and the new pow- 
der soon became the fashion. There lived 


The Potter s Art. 


115 


then in Saxony a man named Boettiger, who 
was bent on finding out the means of imitating 
the beautiful porcelains of China and of Japan. 
One day he noticed that his wig was unusually 
heavy ; he asked his servant what was the rea- 
son of it ; the servant said that the new pow- 
der was somewhat heavy, indeed, and he 
showed it to his master. Boettiger experi- 
mented with the powder, which was no other 
than kaolin or porcelain-clay, and found the 
long-wished-for secret/' 

‘‘O grandpapa, that is not all!” exclaimed 
Marguerite, when Quesnoy arose and put on 
his glasses as if about to resume his work in 
the store. 

'‘Well, well, you are insatiable; have pa- 
tience 1” exclaimed the antiquarian with a 
smile. " It was also by mere chance that that 
precious clay was discovered in France. In 
olden times people were poorer than nowadays, 
and therefore more economical. The wife of a 
surgeon of Saint- Yrieix, Mme. Darnet, found 
that she spent too much money on soap ; she 
studied how to replace it by something else. 
One day as she was out walking she found a 
white, fatty clay of a peculiar nature. 'I have 
found it!' she exclaimed, and immediately she 
took some of it home to use it instead of soap. 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


1 16 

‘‘ Rejoicing at her discovery she showed it 
to her husband, who recognized it as the pre- 
cious substance which is looked for everywhere ; 
it is even superior to the kaolin of Saxony, as 
it contained two ingredients instead of one/' 

“ What good luck, grandpapa ! How I would 
like to make discoveries like that lady!" 

'‘Do as she did, darling; keep your two eyes 
wide open and do not go about like a mole." 

At that moment Mme. Quesnoy, who was 
surprised not to see her little companion make 
her appearance, came to the store to look for 
her, and the conversation stopped. 

But Marguerite was very fond of chatting 
with the old man, and Quesnoy, generally 
taciturn, was quite eloquent on the one topic 
of his predilection. 

At the first opportunity the little girl, who 
had classified in her head all he had told her, 
began thus : 

"You have spoken to me of porcelain of 
China and Japan; what fine porcelains are 
there besides?" 

"That of Sevres," answered Quesnoy 
proudly. 

" Are those of Saxony and England equally 
old?" 

"No, darling." 


The Potter's Art, 117 

'‘Then the names of their inventors are 
known? I understand that you cannot tell 
me the name of the discoverer of China porce- 
lain, it is so very old. But perhaps you know 
the names of the discoverers of other kinds 
of porcelain?’' 

"The first factory of porcelain in France 
was erected by a man named Morin. It was 
established at St. Cloud in 1695 ; the works at 
Sevres, of which the king was the sole proprie- 
tor, opened only in 1756. Beautiful articles 
were made there, but were of soft paste and 
could not be utilized for every-day purposes. 
It was only after Mme. Barnet’s discovery in 
1760, that hard, resisting porcelain, like that 
of your pitcher, for instance, could be pro- 
duced.” 

"And the porcelain of Saxony?” 

" I have told you the name of its discoverer ; 
it was the celebrated Boettiger, who had a 
remarkable history.” 

Marguerite’s eyes sparkled with impatience 
at the word history, and Quesnoy at once grati- 
fied her curiosity. 

"Over two hundred years ago,” he said, 
" there was born at Schleiz, in the bailiwick of 
Rens, in Germany, a little boy called Frederic 
Boettiger. From his very infancy he showed 


ii8 The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 

a lively imagination and often mistook his de- 
sires for realities. Being very poor, he wished 
to be rich. At that time it was believed that 
by boiling a mixture of all sorts of abominable 
things, gold could be produced. They called 
it searching for the philosopher’s stone. 

Frederic thought it was possible to find it. 
He determined to become apprentice to an 
apothecary in Berlin, where he would have 
everything necessary for his experiments. 
How many nights he spent in his laboratory 
no one knows ; but one day it was announced 
that he had succeeded and was making gold. 

Immediately he was accused of being a 
sorcerer, and as such was To be burnt alive. 
He barely had time to make his escape. He 
went to Saxony, trumpeting out the news of 
his great discovery, although the stake awaited 
those who had found the secret. 

“ There was in Saxony a certain prince, an 
elector, who always needed more money than 
he possessed. He heard of the fugitive and 
called him to his palace in Dresden. 

There he asked him. if he really knew how 
to make gold. Thus driven to the wall, the 
poor fellow answered no. But the prince did 
not believe him, and in order to prevent the 
escape of so precious a man, he gave orders to 


The Potter' s Art. 


119 

seize him and bring him to the port of Keenig- 
stein, where he was guarded day and night 
like a princess in the Arabian tales. The best 
of everything was given to him, but on condi- 
tion that he would one day pay his debts with 
gold made in his crucible. 

Nearly three years had elapsed. Boettiger 
was wearied to death ; the elector’s anger knew 
no bounds ; and after having been at the point 
of death for knowing, as they said, how to 
make gold, the ex-apothecary was now in dan- 
ger of death for not knowing how to make it. 

“ It was at that time, probably while looking 
for some distraction in his solitude, that Boet- 
tiger put the powder of his wig into the cruci- 
ble and found the composition of a valuable 
kind of porcelain. Now things took a won- 
derful turn. He told the elector that he had 
fulfilled his mission, having found the means 
of replenishing his coffers, and he proved it so 
clearly that the prince consented to set him 
free. 

'' He established in the Castle of Meisson, on 
the banks of the Elbe, not far from Dresden, 
a factory which opened to Saxony a source of 
immense riches.” 

Thank you, grandpapa. And the English 
porcelain?” 


120 


The Bric-a-h^ac Dealer. 


'' It is not so old. The man that first made 
it had also many a thorny road to traverse, but 
that is the lot of most great men. They only 
arrive at glory after having been torn and 
wounded by the briars of the rough path of 
life.’* 

“ Do you know his history?” asked Margue- 
rite, who did not allow him to make any di- 
gressions. 

‘^Do I know it! I should think so. His 
name was Josiah Wedgwood; he was born in 
1730, and was the thirteenth child of respecta- 
ble parents. His father was an unpretentious 
potter at Burslem, in Staffordshire, who needed 
all the help he could get from his sons. Un- 
fortunately this worthy man died when Josiah 
was still very young, and at the age of eleven 
he stood, so to say, all alone in the world, 
every member of the family having enough to 
do to provide for himself. 

He had become a turner in a workshop pre- 
sided over by his oldest brother, and earned 
enough to make a fair living, when he was 
stricken with small-pox which then was much 
more dangerous than after the discovery of vac- 
cination. He had a protracted illness, during 
which there developed on his right leg a tumor 
which necessitated the amputation of the limb. 


The F otter' s Art. 


121 


^'Working any longer at liis trade of turner 
was out of the question, and he was in great 
embarrassment. With all his energy and good 
will he was scarcely able to make a living. 
He still fondly thought of the dear pottery 
which he regretted he had ever left. When a 
man keeps one object constantly in view he 
will sooner or later find the opportunity of ob- 
taining it. 

Poor Josiah, although a cripple, found ways 
and means to exercise his wonderful skill and 
talent. He commenced on a very small scale, 
in a poorly thatched cabin, but whatever arti- 
cle came out of it had its value ; it was made 
with taste. He produced artistic pottery which 
found such profitable sale that in a few years 
he could build three factories. Always en- 
deavoring to excel, he also discovered a sort of 
clay of which he made a cream-colored porce- 
lain such as never had been seen before. It 
was admired. Wedgwood presented a few 
pieces to Queen Charlotte, who immediately 
gave orders for a whole service. He had now 
made a fortune. He was all the fashion, and the 
title of 'potter to the crown* was bestowed on 
him. He opened a store in London to exhibit 
his wonderful productions ; he himself worked 
like the lowest of his assistants, for he had but 


122 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


one end in view: to reach perfection. He 
found the secret of producing a kind of pottery 
made by the Etruscans: a secret which had 
been lost since the time of Pliny. Finally he 
manufactured a substance more resisting than 
bronze, of which he made cameos harder than 
the one you see here.’' 

O grandpapa, is it possible that a poor un- 
fortunate boy should have made such beauti- 
ful things?” 

Certainly, darling ; he has done more. By 
energy and talent he had no doubt acquired 
great riches ; but what good did he not do to 
his country! He employed twenty thousand 
workmen whose prosperity was due to his in- 
dustry, and he loaded whole vessels with his 
products.” 

‘‘ But they are not as nice as those of 
Sevres,” said Marguerite, caressing with her 
looks the pitcher which to her eyes was the 
favorite type of everything beautiful. 

There can be no comparison between the 
two,” answered the old man; ^Hhe products 
of Sevres are works of pure art; those of Jo- 
siah’s combined art and usefulness. They ex- 
hibit the characteristic feature of the English- 
man’s practical sense.” 


Marguerite makes an Acquainta^ice, 


123 


CHAPTER IX. 

MARGUERITE MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE. 

M arguerite was plunged in a sort of 
philosophical meditation on the mean- 
ing of practical sense ^ and M. Quesnoy was com- 
mencing to doctor up with his mastic and 
brushes a fractured vase, when a cab drove up 
to the door. A gentleman came out first, and 
then helped a lady to alight. 

''Here is Dr. Belfonds,” said Quesnoy, set- 
ting back his spectacles on his forehead, and 
looking out through the window. 

A few moments later the doctor and Hor- 
tense Malbregue entered the store. 

"How do you do, M. Quesnoy?” said Ga- 
briel Belfonds gaily, and with a cordial hand 
shake, " I am glad to see you are quite your- 
self again.” And when the antiquarian had 
spoken a few words regarding his health, M. 
Belfonds added : 

" I did not come to pay you an official visit 
as physician to-day ; I come as an amateur and 
as the companion of mademoiselle, who wishes 
to see your curiosities ; I have praised them 


124 The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 

very highly and have told her that you would 
be glad to show them to her.” 

‘‘ Indeed,” answered the antiquarian, ^‘you 
are welcome, mademoiselle ; I am always hap- 
py and proud to show what I have, even to 
those who do not wish to buy. What I have 
to show is not much,” he added, with con- 
ceited modesty; “a few rare articles, that is 
all. Walk cautiously, please, mademoiselle; 
we have little spare room here.” 

And who is that charming little person, 
M.Quesnoy?” asked the doctor, looking at 
Marguerite, who contemplated in silent admi- 
ration the beautiful dress, and especially the 
handsome face of Hortense Malbregue. ''I 
did not know that you had a child here.” 

It is my granddaughter,” answered the old 
man briefly. She has lost her parents, and 
we have adopted her.” 

'‘Ah, indeed!” said M.Belfonds, caressing 
the curly head of the child. "You will find 
in her an agreeable companion and so will 
Mme. Quesnoy, who sometimes felt very lone- 
some.” 

Here we must remark that the old anti- 
quarian had made up his mind always to an- 
swer all questions concerning Marguerite in 
the same way as he answered the doctor. 


Marguerite makes an Acquaintance. 125 

“Why should he enter into so ruany details?’* 
lie said to himself. “ I have adopted the child 
and there can be no harm in making people 
believe that she is really my granddaughter ; 
this will save trouble both to us and to the 
child.’* Always most reticent on the subject 
of her private life, he was naturally still more 
silent on the circumstances which had induced 
him to adopt the orphan. Mme. Chabrodie 
might perhaps not be quite as discreet, and tell 
all she knew concerning the little girl; but 
then it was not probable that the rich and 
aristocratic customers of M. Quesnoy would 
meet a woman of such low standing and gather 
news from her. 

“What a delightful child!** said Mile. Mal- 
bregue, turning aside from an enamelled 
picture which Quesnoy showed her, to look at 
Marguerite. “What splendid eyes! How 
fiery and yet so velvety!** 

These words were addressed to Dr. Belfonds, 
and just as Hortense pronounced them her 
future husband was admiring, not for the first 
time, the beauty of her own eyes which, in 
his opinion, seemed to be without any rival. 
While making this remark he looked at the 
child, and he was suddenly struck with a cer- 
tain resemblance between her and Marguerite. 


126 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


Both had elongated, almond-shaped, black, 
brilliant, velvety eyes ; but while the eyes of 
the child had a serious expression, those of the 
young lady glittered with sprightly malice. 

Marguerite’s face expanded and her heart 
was beating vehemently when Mile. Malbregue 
approached her closely, addressed some af- 
fectionate words to her, and imprinted a kiss 
on her forehead. Overwhelmed by this un- 
expected mark of friendship, she followed 
Hortense step by step while she advanced cau- 
tiously between piles of porcelain, examining 
the various objects with that lively and per- 
spicacious interest of a person gifted in a high 
degree with artistic judgment. Seeing whom 
he had to deal with, old Quesnoy became elo- 
quent, and gave to the young lady most inter- 
esting details on the articles pointed out to 
her attention. Dr. Belfonds and his cousin se- 
lected a few plates of old faience to adorn the 
walls of their future salons, then the young 
couple said good-by to the old merchant and 
to his granddaughter and stepped into their 
carriage. 

“ Is she not charming, grandpapa ?” ex- 
claimed Marguerite, as soon as they had left, 
while her eyes still followed the object of her 
admiration. 


Marguerite makes an Acquaintance. 


127 


Come in, you will take cold,’' answered the 
old man prudently. 

have never seen such a beautiful lady,” 
continued Marguerite, in her enthusiasm, “and 
she has such a sweet voice ! I am so happy 
she kissed me!” 

“The proverb is always true,” murmured 
the old man. “'Birds of a feather flock to- 
gether. ’ The little one is of a great family, 
and she loves great people.” 

Madame Quesnoy entered. 

“ If I am not mistaken, Dorothea, we shall 
soon hear of the wedding of our doctor,” said 
the antiquarian, rubbing his hands with an 
expression of satisfaction.. 

“What! with that beautiful lady?” asked 
Marguerite, “ what makes you think so, grand- 
papa?” 

The eyes of the old man glittered roguishly 
from under his big gold-mounted spectacles. 

“A good many things, darling,” he an- 
swered, wagging his head. 

A fortnight after M. Quesnoy ’s suppositions 
were verified. One morning, as he passed by 
the Church of St. Philip du Roule, he noticed 
that the steps leading up to the center aisle were 
covered with red carpet and the bells were 
pouring forth their most joyous tones. At the 


128 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


same time his attention was attracted by a long 
row of carriages which by some accident had 
come to a standstill. He asked what cere- 
mony had taken place, and the answer re- 
ceived was that Dr. Belfonds had been married 
to the daughter of General Malbreuge. 

‘'The daughter of General Malbregue?’' re- 
peated Quesnoy; “and who is this general?’' 

“What!” they said; “you have never heard 
of the old general who has two or three hotels 
in this neighborhood. 

“No, I have never heard of him,” said 
Quesnoy; “but I am well acquainted with the 
doctor, and I think I have seen the lady whom 
he has married.” 

“ Well, I wish them happiness and prosper- 
ity. Dr. Belfonds is a good man. I shall 
never forget with what care and attention he 
has treated me during my long illness.” 

Returning home, Jerome Quesnoy said to 
himself, somewhat disturbed : “ Malbregue ! 
Malbregue! where in the world have I seen 
that name ? How strange ! Is it not the name 
written in the books of my little girl? Upon 
my word, it is. I wonder if the spelling is the 
same? I should have inquired — but what for? 
After all, they have nothing in common with 
each other,” 


Afarguerite makes an Acquaintance. 129 

Jerome Quesnoy had contracted the habit of 
calling Marguerite only his little darling. She 
grew dearer and dearer to him. He consid- 
ered her as his most precious acquisition. On 
the other hand, Mme. Quesnoy loved her as she 
had loved Susie. With that orphan a ray of 
light, of cheerfulness, of joy and hope had 
brightened up the dwelling of the old couple. 

The gloomy expression which sometimes 
darkened the face of Dorothea had entirely 
disappeared. Always taken up with the child, 
she worked with an activity of which she 
would not have believed herself capable some 
months ago. 

Quesnoy was always happy in the midst of 
his old treasures, especially since he had trained 
Marguerite to share this happiness with him ; 
but his life was now no longer exclusively ab- 
sorbed by his business. 

When spring brought back its balmy days 
he often closed his store at an early hour to 
take a walk with his wife and the little dar- 
ling to the groves around Paris. It would have 
been difficult to say who of the three enjoyed 
these walks most — Marguerite, who never grew 
tired of admiring the large trees, through 
which were playfully peeping the rays of the 
sun, or of finding under the new grass the 
9 


130 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


flowery treasures of spring, lilies of the valley, 
violets, and anemones, with which she made 
most tasteful bouquets ; or her adoptive par- 
ents, enchanted to see her so happy and 
healthy-looking during this wholesome out- 
door exercise. 

On Sundays Mme. Quesnoy and Marguerite 
invariably went together to High Mass. Jer- 
ome did not accompany them, but he did not 
hinder them from going. He even listened 
with pleasure to what the little girl narrated 
with child-like simplicity after returning from 
church. Almost every evening Marguerite re- 
cited some of the beautiful pieces of poetry 
which her mother had taught her, or read 
aloud one or two pages of the ''Imitation.” 
Thus the old man learned by degrees from the 
mouth of a child the principles of religion, and 
began to love what had been formerly an ob- 
ject of hatred to him, 


The Old Pitcher is Sold, 


131 


CHAPTER X. 

THE OLD PITCHER IS SOLD. 

I T was again near Christmas time ; a year had 
not yet elapsed since the Quesnoys had 
adopted the little orphan, and yet it seemed to 
them as if she had always been their own. 

On a cold afternoon the old merchant was 
alone in a corner of his store when a customer 
whom he had never seen before entered. It 
was a man of tall stature, majestic carriage and 
martial look, with gray hair and beard. His 
countenance was severe, but a disdainful and 
almost arrogant look marred the ensemble. You 
have guessed it; it was General Malbregue. 
Although keeping up his' military gait, the 
general commenced to feel the weight of his 
age; not only did he grow old, but, as is often 
the case, a certain emptiness surrounded him. 
He suffered from being isolated, he also was 
attacked by that terrible malady which befalls 
those who have led a very active life and are 
condemned to inaction, loneliness, torturing 
loneliness ! 

Since the marriage of his daughter his mag- 
nificent house seemed to him like a grave ; the 


132 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


spacious and richly-furnished apartments were 
deserted, silent and mournful. His two sons 
who had, like their father, embraced the mili- 
tary career, came only at long intervals to 
spend their furlough with him. 

The general knew that the house of his 
daughter was always open to him, but he did 
not wish to be indiscreet and to annoy his son- 
in-law by too frequent visits. Besides, Mme. 
Belfonds was too much taken up by the whirl 
of high life to find much time to give to her 
father. 

As the general was sadly winding his way 
home that day, having vainly waited for the 
return of his daughter, who had promised to 
meet him at her house at four o'clock, most 
harassing thoughts occupied his mind. The 
weather was gloomy, and had, no doubt, some 
influence on his moral disposition ; his reflec- 
tions also were gloomy. As he walked along 
he was thinking how very dull and monotonous 
his present life was, when suddenly his eyes 
fell on an object which brought back to him, 
as b}^ a charm, the happiest days of his life. 

He was in front of Quesnoy’s old curiosity 
shop, and one of the objects in the show-win- 
dow attracted his attention. The pitcher of 
old Sevres always occupied the place of honor 


The Old Pitcher is Sold. 


133 


on the edge of the window-sill. Its appear- 
ance seemed to be familiar to the general. 
Yes, the more he looked at it the more he 
found that it resembled a certain pitcher which 
had belonged to his first wife, and a radiant 
vision of the most tender reminiscences sprung 
up before his mind. At that time his life 
had always been calm and happy; when re- 
turning in the evening a pure and serene face 
greeted him with a smile — his guardian angel 
was there. Ah! old pitcher, what a wizard 
thou art ! It was a family souvenir \^hich had. 
been given to Mme. Malbregue and which she 
appreciated very highly. The general had 
seen it for years in his wife’s parlor near the 
beautiful cups of Chinese porcelain. After 
the death of Mme. Malbregue he had author- 
ized his daughter. Marguerite, to consider 
those objects as belonging to her, and when the 
imprudent young lady left the paternal house 
she thought she had a right to remove them 
from the parlor and take them away with her. 

It is easy to understand the general’s feel- 
ings at the sight of that pitcher. The mem- 
ory of his daughter naturally came also to his 
mind; he had loved her and forgotten her. 
Forgotten ? Do you believe it ? Can a father ’ s 
heart forget? 


134 Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

He had tried to do so, and everybody 
thought he had succeeded because he never 
spoke of her; but in reality the memory of 
Marguerite had always remained in his heart 
like a bleeding wound. More than ever this 
souvenir had haunted him of late. 

In the place left vacant by the marriage of 
llortense he saw in his dreams at night the 
phantom of his oldest daughter. He could 
not help being moved with compassion when 
thinking of the child he had loved and still did 
love so passionately, notwithstanding her 
faults. True love is imperishable, whatever 
one may do to destroy it. Far from forgetting 
her, M. Malbregue had even tried several 
times to find out the whereabouts of his unfor- 
tunate daughter ; but all his inquiries had been 
so far without result. 

How would he have acted in case he had 
found her? No one could say, as he did not 
know himself. He did not like to admit that 
he would have received her with open arms, 
but he felt the irresistible desire of know- 
ing what had become of her and of seeing her 
once more. 

And now by chance, or, rather, we should 
vSay, by the agency of Divine Providence, his 
eyes fell upon an object which belonged to his 


The Old Pitcher is Sold. 


I3S 


daughter. He approaches the window, he 
stoops, he examines, he thinks he recognizes 
it ; but he must examine it closer. 

The general, as we have said, entered the 
curiosity shop. Not seeing any one to wait on 
him he impatiently struck the floor with his 
cane till Jerome Quesnoy, not accustomed to 
such hurry, came running up to meet him. 

‘‘At your service, sir. What can I do for 
you?’' asked the old man, looking over his 
spectacles at the unexpected customer. 

“ I would like to see that pitcher you have 
in the window,” answered M. Malbregue. 

Quesnoy, smelling a good bargain, hastened 
to bring the desired article. He was anxious 
to get rid of it. Many amateurs had come to 
bargain for it during the twelve months that it 
had been in the store, but the antiquarian al- 
ways refused to come down ever so little in his 
price. 

And be it said, in passing, that it was not 
through any motive of self-interest that he en- 
deavored to sell the pitcher to the best possi- 
ble advantage; he had resolved to put aside 
for the orphan the whole sum which it would 
realize. 

“This is old Sevres, sir; perfectly authentic 
and without a blemish,” he said, presenting 


136 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


the pitcher to the old general. The hands of 
the latter trembled as he took hold of it. He 
examined it a long time and most minutely. 

‘‘ It is strange,” he said, endeavoring to con- 
trol his emotion. '‘Some time ago I had a 
pitcher exactly resembling this one.” 

“Indeed!” said old Quesnoy, with marked 
interest. “And what has become of it, sir? 
Has it been broken or stolen?” 

“ Neither the one nor the other; but it is no 
longer in my possession,” answered the gen- 
eral dryly. 

He was not accustomed to be questioned. 

A silence of short duration followed this an- 
swer. 

“ I am asking myself if it is not the one I 
hold in my hands,” he replied, with some em- 
barrassment. “What do you think? Is it 
possible to find two pitchers of this kind per- 
fectly identical?” 

“No, sir, no; that is not probable,” replied 
the antiquarian, in the tone of one whose 
opinion is law. “ I would even venture to say 
that it is impossible. This article is very old. 
I presume it dates from the time of Louis XV.* 

* It was tinder the reign of that prince that porcelain 
making became centralized at Sevres, in 1756. In 1695 a 
certain chemist of Toulon, by the name of Morin, mem- 
ber of the Academy of sciences, had founded a factory of 


The Old Pitcher is Sold. 


137 


The subjects are all hand-painted ; it is a real 
work of art. Several pitchers may have been 
modelled after this pattern, but I do not be- 
lieve that the paintings of this one could have 
been reproduced on any other with a similar 
perfection of details. Are you certain, sir, 
that the paintings were the same?” 

''Quite certain. I have seen them often 
enough to recognize them at once,” replied 
M. Malbregue, with a half-suppressed sigh. 
" Can you tell me how the pitcher came into 
your hands?” 

" Here is the special factory-mark of old 
Sevres,” continued Jerome, pretending not to 
have heard the general’s question. " It is this 
double capital letter LL. Do you remem- 
ber, sir, whether this authentic mark was on 
your pitcher?” 

"Yes, I believe so,” said the general, with 
impatience ; " yet I did not care enough about 

pottery at St. Cloud. In 1735 two men who had left that 
factory opened a rival establishment at Chantilly which, 
after many vicissitudes, was transferred to the Chateau of 
Vincennes. In 1755 it began to produce splendid pieces 
of soft paste which became so famous that the work-shops 
of Vincennes were soon too small and had to be trans- 
ferred in 1756 to the newly-erected buildings at Sevres 
where they remained to the end of the Second Empire ; 
for, strange to say, the factory at Sevres as well as that of 
the Gobelins did not suffer during the turbulent times of 
the Revolution. 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


138 

it to give it my attention. But please answer 
my question. How did the pitcher come into 
your possession?” 

His voice was loud, his look haughty ; it was 
easy to see that he was accustomed to com- 
mand, but he did not succeed on this occasion. 
Jerome Quesnoy was not the man to be intim- 
idated by the authoritative manners of the old 
general, and he even became all the more de- 
termined to keep the resolution he had taken 
not to satisfy the curiosity of his unknown 
customer. 

“Ah! I understand,” he said, in a tone 
which almost was bordering on impertinence ; 
“ you would like to know how this old Sevres 
has become niine^'' he put special stress on that 
word. “ Indeed, this is asking too much of 
me. I suppose I had to buy it, like a great 
many other things, from somebody. But that 
was long ago.” 

“ Do you not remember from whom you 
bought it?” insisted the general. 

“Well, indeed, sir, I should have the mem- 
ory of an attorney to remember the names of 
all the persons who come here to sell old por- 
celain.” 

“ Then you can give me no information 
whatsoever?” 


The Old Pitcher is Sold. 


139 


“No, sir, none at all,'' replied Quesnoy, 
bluntly. 

M. Malbregue seemed to be quite vexed, but 
he remained silent. 

“ Do you wish to buy the pitcher, sir?" asked 
Quesnoy. 

“Yes, yes," was the quick answer. “What 
is the price of it?" 

“ A hundred and fifty francs. Old Sevres is 
now very scarce. Buy it or leave it, just as 
you please." 

Quesnoy had purposely raised the price to 
compensate himself for the expenditure of ill- 
temper caused by the inquisitive customer. 
To his great surprise, the latter answered 
coolly : 

“ I think it is worth that." 

And taking out his pocket-book he paid 
the cash. 

“ Send the parcel to my house as soon as 
possible," he added; “to General Malbregue, 
14 Avenue de Messine." 

And without noticing the disappointment of 
the dealer, he left the store. 

Malbregue! Malbregue! The very name 
which was written in the books of the little 
orphan. No doubt about it, the pitcher had 
surely belonged to the general. But how 


140 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


did it come into the possession of the poor 
widow from whom Quesnoy had bought it at 
such a low price. Did she steal it, together 
with the books? No, he would not entertain 
such a horrible supposition. He still believed 
the lady to be of noble birth and of perfect 
honesty, notwithstanding her apparent pov- 
erty. Besides, did she not say the pitcher was 
a family souvenir? 

Could there have been some relationship be- 
tween the mother of Marguerite and M. 
Malbregue? What mystery is all this? Who 
knows? Perhaps if Quesnoy had not been so 
very prudent and reticent on the matter the 
general might have claimed the little orphan 
as belonging to him. 

The old man trembled at this thought, and 
was more pleased than ever with himself for 
not having answered the insolent questions of 
the general. 

But Quesnoy’s peace of conscience was not 
of long duration. 

A year ago he would not have scrupled to 
conceal by an evasive answer a fact which it 
was his advantage to keep secret ; but the con- 
tact with his dear orphan had taught him to 
consider truth as something sacred. 

He had taken the strongest resolution not to 


The Old Fiicher is Sold, 


141 

fall back into the habit of giving to self-inter- 
est the first place. He had had so much re- 
morse on account of that same pitcher! He 
felt humiliated when seeing how readily he 
had yielded to the temptation. By not telling 
the truth he had again injured his neighbor. 
Yet Jerome Quesnoy, though confessing his 
fault, tried to find some extenuating circum- 
stances. 

Did not the haughtiness of the general pro- 
voke him ? Only a saint would have withstood 
it patiently. Besides, did he not by his silence 
act in Marguerite’s interest? 

Assuredly the child was as happy as possible 
with him and his wife. He knew she would 
not for the world leave them. Why then ex- 
pose her to all that trouble ? 

But in spite of all these justifying reasons 
the old man felt dissatisfied with himself. One 
day he was alone at home, Dorothea and Mar- 
guerite having gone to see a friend who lived 
outside the fortifications. Quesnoy was there- 
fore undisturbed in his reflections, and his con- 
science soon gained the victory. He resolved 
to reveal to the general the whole truth when 
bringing him the pitcher, whatever might be 
the consequence. Mme. Quesno}^ returned 
home somewhat late. Marguerite felt tired 


142 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


and sleepy, and while both had retired up- 
stairs Quesnoy went out to bring the parcel to 
the general. On his way thither he prepared 
the little speech he was going to make to M. 
Malbregue ; but he might have saved himself 
that trouble, for when he arrived at the given 
number of the Avenue de Messine he was told 
by the servant that the general had gone out 
to dine. 

cannot help it,’' murmured Quesnoy, on 
leaving, after having recommended to the ser- 
vant to handle the parcel with the utmost care. 

God knows I wanted to tell everything. It 
is not my fault that he is not at home.” 

And he thus thought that he had fulfilled 
his duty. 

The night was cold, a piercing north wind 
was whistling through the leafless trees. 
Quesnoy buttoned up his overcoat, but the 
cold blast chilled him to the marrow of his 
bones. As he went along slowly and with 
difficulty he had to admit that old age with its 
attendant infirmities had overtaken him — a 
reflection which was not calculated to bring 
cheerfulness to his mind. 

On arriving at home his wife, who had been 
in great anxiety, treated him to a good scold- 
ing for not having put on his woollen com- 


Duty Before Pleasure. 


143 


forter. She gave him a bowl of hot wine to 
drink in order to prevent the effects of his im- 
prudent exposure. But the harm was done; 
Quesnoyhad taken a heavy cold, which rapidly 
grew worse. 


CHAPTER XI. 

DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE. 

N ext day Jerome Quesnoy felt ill, yet he 
insisted on getting up, and went to the 
store as usual. 

Marguerite also made her appearance shortly 
after, and began her daily work with the dust- 
ing rag. When coming to her favorite spot at 
the window she suddenly looked around in 
every direction, and exclaimed in a tone of 
anxious surprise: '‘Oh, grandpapa, what has 
become of my pitcher? I do not see it any- 
where.” 

" No wonder, darling,” replied the old man, 
with a smile. " I have sold it at last.” 

"Sold it!” said Marguerite, with consterna- 
tion. " Sold mamma’s beautiful pitcher? No, 
grandpapa, you are not in earnest.” 

"Why, darling, you knew that the pitcher 


144 Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

was here for sale, did you not? I had pur- 
posely placed it there in order to entice some 
good customer to buy it.” 

‘'Yes, I know; but I did not think you 
would sell it — especially without telling me,” 
stammered the little one, scarcely knowing 
what she was saying. 

Quesnoy had no answer for her. 

“ So it is gone ! I shall never see it, never 
dust it again!” And she gave free course to 
her tears and lamentations, as children will do 
when they are heartbroken. 

Marguerite’s grief deeply affected M. Ques- 
noy. He had never seen her weep so bitterly, 
and he almost thought he was guilty of a mon- 
strous cruelty. 

“Come, darling,” he said caressingly; 
“ come, console yourself. I did not think you 
were so unreasonable. See here what I have 
received for the pitcher!” 

Saying this, he opened a drawer of his bu- 
reau. 

“Seven beautiful gold pieces, and a small 
one into the bargain ! And all for you. Mar- 
guerite ! I will not keep one cent of it. Is it 
not better to have the money than to possess 
an article which you only looked at from time 
to time?” 


Duty Before Pleasure, 


145 


But money was of no attraction to a girl of 
such a passionate temper. 

No, no; I do not want your money; keep 
it,'* she screamed frantically. “I wish it was 
at the bottom of the sea. I prefer my pitcher 
to all the money in the world." 

^'Marguerite, you are a naughty girl," said 
Quesnoy, impatiently; "and, moreover, you 
are ungrateful, for you know I have acted in 
your own interest. If you persist in acting so 
foolishly I cannot keep you in the store ; you 
would frighten away my customers." 

It was the first time that Quesnoy thus re- 
buked Marguerite. 

The little girl felt it all the more keenly, 
and being fully conscious of her foolishness 
and bad temper, she left the store in tears. 

The old man felt almost as bad as the child, 
and for several reasons; he was physically 
very ill, then a fixed idea haunted him — he 
was continually thinking of the pitcher of old 
Sevres and of the dissimulation of which 
he was guilty toward General Malbregue. 
Finally, the tears and sighs of Marguerite, 
who had fled to the kitchen, pierced his heart. 

" Poor little darling !’* he said to himself ; " I 
have acted so cruelly, so roughly, toward her. 

Had I known how fondly she was attached to 
10 


146 The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 

that vase I would never have sold it. I did 
not need that miserable sum for my living.'’ 

The sighs had died away and there was com- 
plete silence in the house. A few moments 
later Quesnoy heard light footsteps in the cor- 
ridor, a timid hand slowly opened the door, 
and in peeped the beautiful face of Marguerite. 

'‘Walk in, darling; walk in,” said the anti- 
quarian, with an encouraging gesture; “you 
need not be afraid.” 

Marguerite was all confusion ; her eyes were 
cast down, and her trembling hands twisted 
the lower end of her apron. With a tremulous 
voice she thus commenced: 

“ Grandpapa, I have been a very bad child. 
But I am sorry for it, very sorry. Will you 
pardon me?” 

The old man embraced her tenderly. “ Of 
course I pardon you,” he said. “Don’t think 
any more of my scolding. Your grandpapa 
is too ready to scold, I fear, when things are 
not going right, like this morning.” While 
he was thus speaking to Marguerite, Quesnoy 
asked himself if it was not his duty to ask the 
child’s pardon, since he had again wronged 
her, as he thought. 

“Are you perhaps not well, grandpapa?” 
asked the little girl, in her sweetest tone. 


Duty Before Pleasure, 


147 


‘‘Well, yes, a little,” answered the old man. 
“ My breathing is somewhat embarrassed, but 
it is nothing serious; it will pass off.” 

Quesnoy had made great efforts all day to 
conceal his indisposition, but when evening 
came he had to confess that he was suffering 
very much. 

Mme. Quesnoy was greatly alarmed on see- 
ing her husband threatened with the same ill- 
ness which a year ago had brought him to 
death’s door. 

“ He will have another congestion of the 
lungs,” she said to Marguerite, after having 
exhausted her little stock of household reme- 
dies ; “ if I only had somebody to send for Dr. 
Belfonds before night!” 

“I am ready to go, grandmamma,” said 
Marguerite. “ I know where Dr. Belfonds 
lives. Grandpapa showed me the house the 
other day; it is not far from here.” 

“Would you not be afraid to go, my dear?” 
asked Mme. Quesnoy. “I do not like to let 
you go out alone at this late hour.” 

“No, indeed, I am not afraid,” replied Mar- 
guerite. “ I shall walk fast, and ask the doc- 
tor to come as soon as possible.” 

“I do not know what to say, darling,” re- 
plied Mme. Quesnoy, fearing both for her hus- 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


band and for the safety of the child. '' If I let 
you go you promise me to be very careful when 
crossing the streets?” 

‘'Yes, yes,” said Marguerite, running for 
her hat and coat. 

Mme. Quesnoy wrapped a warm woollen 
shawl around her, kissed her and accompanied 
her as far as the door. 

Marguerite walked, or, rather, ran, so fast 
that in less than fifteen minutes she arrived 
breathless at the doctor's house. She rang 
the bell ; a servant came to open the door. 

“ Is Dr. Belfonds in?” she asked. 

“ No,” was the answer; “but he will not be 
out long. Will you wait a few minutes?” 

The little girl thought she had no other 
choice; she stepped into the vestibule and 
took the seat which was offered her by the 
servant. 

The interior of M. Belfond’s house capti- 
vated the looks of the child ; everything was 
so new, so brilliant, so stylish ! The oilcloth 
under her feet, the stair-carpet with its shin- 
ing fastenings, the beautiful hall-lamp, every- 
thing around her elicited her admiration. But 
suddenly a still more agreeable sight presented 
itself to the dazzled eyes of Marguerite. There 
appeared at the head of the stairs a something 


Duty Before Pleasure. 


149 


which she was tempted to take for one of those 
fairy apparitions which Dorothea had so often 
mentioned in her stories. 

It was a young woman dressed in white 
gauze; several rows of pearls adorned her 
neck and wrists, and silver flowers were spark- 
ling in her artistically-dressed hair. She came 
down stairs slowly, but at the unexpected 
sight of Marguerite she intinctively stood still. 
The little girl easily recognized the lady who 
had come one day with M. Belfonds to see 
grandfather’s curiosities, only she seemed to 
look still more beautiful. Her cheeks were 
brilliantly colored, her black eyes sparkled 
like precious stones ; a sweet smile enhanced 
the beauty of her rosy lips. 

What are you doing here, my child?” she 
asked Marguerite. 

I am waiting for the doctor, madame,” said 
the girl, rising from her seat. “ I would like 
him to come at once to grandfather, who is 
very ill.” 

“ It will be impossible for him to go there 
to-night,” replied Hortense Belfonds perempt- 
orily. ''No need of such hurry; he can wait 
till to-morrow.” 

"Oh, no, madame!” exclaimed Marguerite. 
"We would be so glad if the doctor could 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


ISO 

come to-night ; grandfather is really very 
sick.” 

“ What is your name?” asked the young wo- 
man impatiently. ''It seems to me I have 
seen you somewhere.” 

"I am Marguerite, the grandchild of M. 
Quesnoy, the bric-a-brac dealer,” answered the 
girl, happy to introduce herself. 

" Oh, yes, I remember you now, my darling,” 
said Mine. Belfonds. "So M. Quesnoy is sick 
again? He seems to be sick quite often.” 

Marguerite was about to reply when the 
hall-door opened and the doctor walked in. 
His first look fell on Hortense, whom he did 
not expect to find at the door, and he said in 
a tone of painful surprise: "My dear child, 
what do you mean? You are not going out 
to-night, and in such a dress?” 

"Well, yes, Gabriel,” she replied rather 
sharply. "Have you forgotten the ball at 
Mme. d'Obriguy’s?” 

"No, indeed, Hortense, I did not forget it,” 
replied the doctor calmly, "but I told you this 
morning that it would be most imprudent for 
you to go there after having been ill for the 
last three days. I hoped you would give it 
up, if for no other reason than to please me.” 

"You were mistaken, that is all,” replied 


Duty Before Pleasure, 


iSi 

Hortense coldly. '' I do not so easily give up 
a pleasure to which I have been looking for- 
ward for weeks. I have been a little indis- 
posed, it is true, but is it worth while to men- 
tion it?” 

“H’m!” said the doctor. 

“ A slight cold, a touch of neuralgia in the 
side; what a serious affair, indeed! These 
doctors are the most harassing of husbands; 
they make a big fuss about nothing. Really, 
Gabriel, it is enough to make me regret to 
have married you.” 

Gabriel Belfonds, who was fondly attached 
to that charming but frivolous creature, looked 
sad. 

“ I beg of you, Hortense, do not speak thus, 
even though you are only joking,” he said 
most earnestly. '^You grieve me very much. 
If you insist on going, I shall accompany you, 
but wrap yourself up and use every possible 
precaution. If we doctors are so tantalizing, 
as you say, it is because we know what may 
be the consequence of a cold or an indisposi- 
tion ; this is another way of showing our affec- 
tion.” While saying these last words the doc- 
tor turned round to put his hat and overcoat 
on the rack. He then saw Marguerite stand- 
ing motionless and looking very grave. 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


152 

‘‘ Who is that little girl, and what does she 
want?” he asked. 

“She is waiting for yon,” answered his wife, 
in a low tone, “ her grandfather is sick ; but I 
beg of you, do not go there to-night. Go up- 
stairs at once and dress to accompany me to 
Mme. d’Obriguy’s.” 

“ Can I thus neglect my duty?” answered the 
young doctor reproachingly. “ If the case is 
urgent, I have to go,” he added with firmness. 

Then turning to Marguerite he asked her: 

“What is your grandfather's name, my 
child?” 

“Jerome Quesnoy, sir,” she answered. 

“ What ! M. Quesnoy, the bric-a-brac dealer?” 
exclaimed the doctor in painful surprise. 
“Sick again? I am very sorry for him. Noth- 
ing serious, I hope?” 

“Pardon, sir, he is very sick,” said Margue- 
rite in a solemn tone, “ and Mme. Quesnoy 
would be greatly obliged if you could come 
without delay.” 

“I will come at once,” answered M.Bel- 
fonds. “You may go home, my dear. I shall 
be at your grandpapa's almost as soon as you 
will be.” 

When Hortense entered the dining-room she 
looked very gloomy. 


Marguerite Delivers a Message, 


153 


^‘Always the same story,” she said angrily; 

I can never depend on him ; it is really very 
tedious! What a misfortune to be a doctor’s 
wife! But I shall go to Mme. d’Obriguy’s to- 
night. Yes, I shall, though I should have to 
go alone!” 


CHAPTER XII. 

MARGUERITE DELIVERS A MESSAGE. 

ABRIEL BELFONDS found Quesnoy a 



great deal worse than he had anticipated 
from the words of Marguerite ; he had a high 
fever, his breathing was painful and wheez- 
zing, pneumonia had set in. The doctor ap- 
plied prompt and effectual remedies, giving at 
the same time encouraging words to his patient, 
for whose recovery, however, he had very lit- 
tle hope. 

Like the previous year, Quesnoy was troub- 
led during his long hours of insomnia with 
many a remorse of conscience, and again he 
resolved to amend as soon as he recovered. 

But, alas, days and weeks passed by and 
health did not return. On the contrary, se- 
rious complications baffled the efforts of medi- 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer. 


154 

cal aid. M. Belf ends was all attention to his 
patient; he visited him daily, often twice a 
day, and used every possible means to procure 
relief for him. Mme. Quesnoy, however, no- 
ticed with apprehensive surprise that the visits 
of the doctor became shorter and shorter ; his 
manners were totally changed ; the former 
pleasant, open-hearted friend had all at once 
become grave and taciturn. He walked in, 
examined his patient, wrote a prescription, 
and left. It looked as if he purposely avoided 
to utter a syllable more than was absolutely 
necessary. 

Even little Marguerite noticed the great 
change in her friend the doctor, and she felt 
shy in his presence. 

Mme. Quesnoy was lost in conjectures as to 
the reason of this change in the manners of 
the amiable and kind doctor. The mystery 
was solved by one of her friends who had 
come to inquire about the patient. By the 
way,'’ she said, “ do you know, Mme. Quesnoy, 
what has happened to Dr. Belfonds? His wife 
is very sick ; there is little hope of saving her 
life. She took cold at a ball and now she has 
pneumonia like your husband. How sad for 
him to lose her? And it is scarcely a year 
since they were married. ” 


Marguerite Delivers a Message. 155 

Mme. Quesnoy was no longer surprised at 
the doctor’s gravity and taciturnity; on the 
contrary, she was deeply touched to see that 
in the midst of his cruel anxiety, he took time 
to visit Quesnoy every day. Marguerite also 
was grieved on hearing the news of Mme. 
Belfonds’ illness. She could not believe that 
the pretty lady,” as she always called her, 
was in danger of death. Morning and evening 
she prayed to God for the recovery of her 
grandpapa, and now she also added a special 
prayer for Mme. Belfonds. The day came at 
last when the doctor looked more like himself 
again. He walked in with a light and steady 
step; his face v/as beaming with happiness. 
Marguerite, who met him in the passage, was 
so struck with his joyful appearance that she 
ventured to speak to him. 

“Good-morning, doctor,” sh^e said rather 
timidly, “is Mme. Belfonds better to-day?” 

“Yes, thank you, my little darling; she is 
out of danger, thank God,” answered the doc- 
tor with a happy smile. “ I hope she will soon 
be quite well again.” 

“I am happy to hear it,” said Marguerite. 
“ And do you think that grandpapa will also 
be well soon?” 

The doctor looked melancholy. “ I cannot 


156 The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

say — I hope so,” he replied evasively as he 
hastened upstairs. 

On entering the sick-room Gabriel Belfonds 
noticed at once a great change in the appear- 
ance of the old man. His livid color and his 
diwStorted features were indicative of the ap- 
proaching end. The patient was asleep and 
the doctor did not wish to have him dis- 
turbed. Perhaps he might quietly pass away 
during this apparently peaceful slumber. 
The doctor made a sign to Mme. Quesnoy to 
follow him, and endeavored to prepare her for 
the worst. The sorrowing woman had the 
presentiment that her husband would not re- 
cover from his present attack ; yet when the 
doctor announced to her that death was immi- 
nent, her grief was unspeakable. 

The generous and warm-hearted Gabriel 
showed all the more sympathy for the discon- 
solate Dorothea as he had been relieved him- 
self a short time ago from a similar painful 
situation. 

Mme. Quesnoy was not, however, unnerved 
by the news of the misfortune which threat- 
ened to befall her ; with admirable resignation 
she forgot herself completely, and only thought 
of her dying husband. Though heart-broken 
and oppressed with grief, she was exteriorly 


Marguerite Delivers a Message. 157 

calm and self-possessed at her husband's bed- 
side. Marguerite also had come to the sick- 
room and seated herself at the opposite side of 
the bed. Quesnoy was delighted to see her 
near him. 

While they were thus watching him with 
silent sadness, Jerome Quesnoy opened his 
eyes and cast a glance first at his wife then at 
Marguerite. 

^^Both near me," he stammered with a lov- 
ing smile; ‘'that is good, I like that." 

“You are awake at last, my dear," said his 
wife, rising at the same time to get some beef- 
tea. 

“The doctor has been here, grandpapa," 
added Marguerite. “ He did not want us to 
disturb you, you slept so soundly." 

“Oh, the doctor has been here; and what 
did he say?" asked the patient. 

Mme. Quesnoy was embarrassed; she had 
not the heart to repeat what M. Belfonds had 
said. 

The sick man noticed her embarrassment 
and guessed its cause. 

“I know, my dear," he said with a feeble 
voice, “I know I am dying; I need no doctor 
to tell it to me. But I have a duty to per- 
form before I die, I must atone for my 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer . 


153 

evil doings. I have wronged my little dar- 
ling. 

“You wronged Marguerite!” interrupted his 
wife. “ Had she been your own child you 
could not have done more for her!” The un- 
fortunate woman thought he was raving. 

“O grandpapa!” exclaimed the little one, 
“do not speak thus, I entreat you. You have 
always been so good to me. You have made 
me so happy.” 

The old man caressed the child with his 
trembling hands. 

“I imagined I was good, darling,” he re- 
plied, “but my affection for you has made me 
act unjustly and egotistically; I have wronged 
you, I say it again. And your pitcher of old 
Sevres was again the cause of it. Will you 
render me a service. Marguerite?” 

“Oh, yes, grandpapa,” she answered un- 
hesitatingly ; “ I will do anything to please 
you.” 

“Well, then, go at once to General Mal- 
bregue ; he is the gentleman to whom I have 
sold the pitcher. He lives at No. 14 Avenue 
de Messine. Anybody will show you his house 
when you are in that neighborhood. Give him 
my regards and ask him as a favor to come to 
see me as soon as possible. Tell him that I 


Marguei'ite Delivers a Message. 159 

am very ill, and that I have a most important 
communication to make to him in regard to 
the pitcher of old Sevres. You hear? Be quick, 
darling, don’t lose any time, for I feel I have 
not much time to spare.” 

Marguerite left at once. It was cold and 
night was setting in. Most gloomy thoughts 
saddened her heart as she went along in the 
direction of the Avenue de Messine. She was 
to lose her dear grandpapa who had been so 
good, so kind to her, and she was in all proba- 
bility on her last errand for him. 

The child had no trouble in finding the gen- 
eral’s house. A young butcher pointed it out 
to her. But what was her surprise on seeing 
that it was the same house before which her 
poor mother had rested so long on the evening 
of her death. 

Marguerite pulled the bell with violence. 

A servant in livery opened hastily and was 
about to severely scold the little girl for ring- 
ing so rudely when his anger was appeased by 
the sight of a pale-faced and greatly agitated 
child. 

“ I would like to speak to General Mal- 
bregue,” she said, ‘'but immediately, imme- 
diately !” 

“ Impossible, for he is not in,” 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


1 6o 

'^Not in?’’ replied Marguerite in despair. 
Oh, what shall I do?” 

will faithfully give him your message,” 
said the servant, surprised at the agitation of 
the little creature. 

^'Oh no, I must see M. Malbregue my- 
self, I must!” exclaimed the girl. ''I have 
something very important to tell him, and 
there is no time to lose.” 

“Then you had better go to Dr. Belfonds’. 
Probably the general has gone to see his 
daughter. Do you know where Dr. Belfonds 
lives?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Marguerite, bounding out 
at great speed. 

“ What can she have to tell the general?” the 
perplexed servant asked himself as he watched 
her running down the avenue. A few mo- 
ments later, Marguerite rang the doctor’s bell. 
Happily the general was there, as the servant 
had guessed. He was sitting near the crack- 
ling fire in Hortense’s room when word came 
that a little girl wanted to see him imme- 
diately. 

“A little girl!” he exclaimed; “why you 
are mistaken, Leontine ; it must be the doctor 
she wants to see; you did not hear well/' 


Ma^'guerite Delivers a Message, i6i 

“ No, sir,” said the chambermaid, I thought 
so myself, but she said distinctly she wished 
to speak to General Malbregue. She was sent 
by M.Quesnoy, the bric-a-brac dealer.” 

“Oh, I know/’ said Hortense, who was re- 
clining on a sofa, her head propped up with 
pillows. “ I know the child. She is the love- 
liest little thing imaginable. Let her come 
up, dear papa ; I would like to see her and chat 
with her.” 

“Is that prudent, my daughter?” asked the 
general. “You will, no doubt, chat with that 
child and thus fatigue yourself.” 

“ No, papa ; I will not fatigue myself. Make 
her come up ; it will be a recreation for me, I 
am so tired of being confined to this room 
without any company.” 

“Very well, dear, have your way,” he re- 
plied. And he told the chambermaid to let 
the child come up. 

The general was surprised to see a charming 
little body, dressed plainly but neatly and 
tastefully, with elegant manners and dignified 
behavior. Instantly M. Malbregue ’s imag- 
ination carried him back to those happy years 
when a black-eyed little girl, the very image 
of the one now present before him, was the 


i 62 


The Bric-a-hrac Deale 7\ 


idol of his house. He gazed at Marguerite in 
silent astonishment and with feelings of curi- 
osity, admiration, and sympathy. 

Marguerite forgot for a moment her press- 
ing message in presence of the beautiful 
lady’’ whose paleness and emaciation gave 
sufficient evidence of her pitiable state of 
health. 

‘'Well, my child,” said Mme. Belfonds, no- 
ticing her surprise, “what has brought you 
hither to-night?” 

“ I would like to speak to General Mal- 
bregue,” replied the little girl. 

“Here I am,” said the general, still seated 
in his arm-chair near the fire. “ What have 
you to tell me?” 

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Marguerite in a quiv- 
ering tone, “it is grandpapa who sends me. 
He is very ill. The doctor thinks he will die; 
but he would like to see you before his death, 
for he has something very important to tell 
you.” 

“And what can your grandfather have to 
tell me? I do not know him.” And the gen- 
eral’s tone of voice revealed the displeasure 
he felt at such a request. 

“Oh, pardon, sir, you know him!” replied 
Marguerite hastily and fearlessly. “ You know 


Marguerite Delivers a Message. 


163 


my grandpapa, M. Quesnoy, who keeps the 
store where yoti some time ago bought a beau- 
tiful pitcher of old Sevres, adorned with most 
beautiful paintings. It is in regard to that 
pitcher M. Quesnoy wishes to speak to you.’' 

“Indeed!” said the general, rising as by a 
magic touch. His emotion was great. Had 
the antiquarian some important revelation to 
make concerning that precious vase ? 

“You will go, will you not, sir?” entreated 
Marguerite. “Grandpapa is very feeble; he 
says that if you wait till to-morow, it will per- 
haps be too late?” 

“I am going instantly,” said the general. 

“What, papa, you will leave me alone?” ex- 
postulated Hortense in the sentimental tone 
of a spoiled child. 

“ I regret that I must leave you, dear child ; 
but what can I do?” said M. Malbregue, 
leaning over to embrace her. 

“Very simple, indeed; do not go,” contin- 
ued the young woman with impetuosity. “ Is 
it worth while to go to so much trouble about 
an old pitcher?” 

“Oh, I entreat you, madame, do not keep 
the general back!” exclaimed Marguerite, the 
tears in her eyes. “ Grandpapa wishes so ar- 
dently to see him before dying!” 


164 The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 

Well, then, to oblige every one, will yon 
stay here with me during my father’s ab- 
sence,” asked Hortense, stretching forth her 
hand to the little girl for whom she felt a most 
sympathetic attachment. ‘‘You will keep me 
company, and we shall become better ac- 
quainted. Well, what do you say?” 

Marguerite seemed to be wavering. It was 
a great sacrifice to stay away from her grand- 
father, even for one hour, yet was she not in 
duty bound to do all in her power in order to 
have his last wish realized ? 

“ I will stay,” she said, trying to conceal her 
heart’s sorrow and sadness. 

Without heeding the child’s grief, Mme. 
Belfonds rejoiced at her arrangement of 
affairs, and bade her take off hat and coat and 
sit at her bedside. 

The general kissed his daughter good-by, 
and in a moment he was out of the house. 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer Tells the Secret. 165 


CHAPTER XIII, 

THE BRIC-A-BRAC DEALER TELLS THE SECRET. 

“ IT AVE you had supper, Marguerite ?” asked 

i Mme. Belfonds when they were alone. 

‘‘No, madame, but I do not feel hungry,’' 
answered the child. 

The truth was that she had scarcely touched 
any food that day : she was too sick at heart to 
eat. 

“You will take a cup of coffee with me,” 
continued the young woman, “ it will do you 
good. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. ” 
A magnificent and most enticing collation was 
served, but poor Marguerite had no appetite 
for even the choicest meats which Mme. Bel- 
fonds piled on her plate. Her thoughts were 
with her grandfather, she could not enjoy 
herself away from him. 

“Do you know that I have been very ill 
since I saw you last?” said Hortense, after 
a few moments of painful silence. 

“ Yes, madame, I know,” answered the child. 
“ I was very sorry to hear it, and I prayed to 
God for your recovery.” 

“ Really, you prayed for me, little Mar- 


i66 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


guerite!” exclaimed Mme. Belfonds in sur- 
prise. “ How did you come by that idea?'’ 

“Because I love you; you are so pretty!” 
said Marguerite innocently. 

The young woman smiled and blushed. She 
was more affected by the sincere compliment 
of the child than by the flattering adulation of 
the world ; in return she loved her still more 
sincerely. 

“ You are much better now,” continued Mar- 
guerite ; “you are no longer in danger of 
death?” 

“In danger of death!” repeated Mme. Bel- 
fonds shivering. “ Oh, I hope not. What a 
strange question ! My husband assures me I 
am out of danger and that I am rapidly get- 
ting better. For a few days I was very much 
afraid I would die.” 

“Why were you afraid?” asked the child 
with a glance at Mme. Belfonds. “ Do you 
not believe that we shall be very happy in 
heaven?” 

“ No, no,” she replied with a faltering voice, 
“who can be certain of ever seeing heaven?” 

“Why everybody,” said the child, with per- 
fect assurance. “ Mamma has often told me 
that heaven is our true home.” 

And in confirmation of what she had said. 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer T'ells the Secret, 167 

she recited the beautiful piece of poetry on 
heaven” which she had learned from her 
mother. 

'‘Thank you, my child,” said Hortense, 
"you recite beautifully indeed!” 

Then the young woman reclined her head 
on the pillows, closed her eyes, and remained 
silent and motionless, so that Marguerite 
thought she had fallen asleep. 

But no, Hortense did not sleep. She was 
absorbed in serious reflections. For the first 
time she became conscious of the emptiness of 
her life. She saw that death was not looked 
upon with terror by all ; to some it appeared 
like a blissful heaven prepared by the good- 
ness of an omnipotent God. 

Marguerite, sitting at the bedside of Mme. 
Belfonds, found the time very long. Her 
heart was in that other bed-chamber where 
old Jerome Quesnoy awaited his last hour. 
How was he? And what of the general? It 
seemed to her as if he was never to return. 

"I fear you are wearied. Marguerite,” said 
Mme. Belfonds, whom a heavy sigh of the 
child had awakened from her dreaming medi- 
tation. "Poor little girl! I had almost for- 
gotten you, and yet I do love you so dearly. I 
like so much to have you near me ; how happy 


i68 


The JBric-a-brac Dealer, 


I would be if you were my little sister and 
would stay here with me. Would you not like 
that?” 

Marguerite shook her head. ‘'I prefer to 
stay with grandpapa,” she replied. 

She had scarcely uttered these words when 
big tears filled her eyes at the thought of los- 
ing the one she loved most in this world. Hor- 
tense noticed her tears and guessed their 
cause. 

‘Wou love your grandfather very much,” 
she said with great kindness. Did you al- 
ways live with them?” 

“Oh, no!” replied Marguerite. “I have 
been with M.Quesnoy only one year. He 
is not my real grandfather, you know ; I have 
no parents. I was to be sent to the orphan 
asylum when M. and Mine. Quesnoy kindly 
adopted me.” 

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mme. Belfonds. 
“I was completely ignorant of all this. Tell 
me all, my dear child, will you?” 

Marguerite had not quite finished her short 
and touching biography when the hall door 
opened and closed again and the footsteps of 
men were heard in the vestibule. 

“My husband has come home,” said Mme. 
Belfonds, overcome with joy. “ He probably 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer Tells the Secret, 169 

has met my father, for I hear two persons be- 
low.” 

In fact the two gentlemen were coming up 
at a slow pace and speaking in a mysteriously 
low tone of voice. Having arrived at the land- 
ing they stood still continuing their low con- 
versation without opening the door of Hor- 
tense’s room. 

Hortense wondered what all this meant. 
At last the general entered. He appeared to 
be greatly excited. 

Marguerite had risen from her seat and 
tried to leave the room without being noticed, 
but M. Malbregue stopped her. 

Great was her surprise on seeing in his 
hand the Imitation” and the prayer-book of 
her mother, and presently she was in the em- 
brace of the old soldier who bestowed on her 
the most tender affection. 

Mme. Belfonds was as much surprised as 
Marguerite; she gazed in turn at her father 
and her husband as if asking for an explana- 
tion. The general spoke first: 

“ Hortense, this child is my granddaughter, ” 
he said with a trembling voice. Your sister 
Marguerite was her mother. . . . What M. 
Quesnoy has told me just now, and the books 
which I recognize as hers, prove it beyond a 


1 70 The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 

shadow of doubt. My dear daughter is dead. 
She died in extreme poverty; but she left 
me this child to be my consolation and my 
joy.” 

^^It is not true!” exclaimed the child with 
indignation, as she extricated herself from the 
arms of the general. Quesnoy is my grand- 
father, and I will have no other one, no, I will 
not. He took me when no one else wanted 
me; he has taken care of me, he has adopted 
me. Oh, I entreat you, do not keep me 
here. He is very sick. I must see him.” 

‘'Yes, Marguerite; yes, my child, you will 
go back to M. Quesnoy,” said the doctor with 
a tone of conciliation ; he wishes ardently to 
see you ; my carriage is at the door and will 
bring you thither in a few moments ; the gen- 
eral has purposely come here to be your es- 
cort.” Saying these words the doctor helped 
the little girl to put on her hat and coat. 

“It may be better,” he whispered to M. 
Malbregue, as they came down stairs, “ not to 
enter into any explanation of the matter at 
present. Later on the little girl will be happy 
to find a new home; for the present — be it 
said to her credit — she has no affection for any 
one but her adoptive grandfather.” 


Marguerite Goes to Her New Home, 


171 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MARGUERITE GOES TO HER NEW HOME. 

TEROME QUESNOY slumbered when Mar- 
J guerite entered the room. She looked at 
him with great anxiety, his countenance had 
so much changed since she had left him. Soft- 
ly she glided up to the head of the bed and 
affectionately placed her little hand in his. 
Mine. Quesnoy was sitting at the opposite side 
of the bed, her hands also clasped the hand of 
him to whom she had been fondly united for 
nearly forty years, and who was now on the 
point of leaving her. She was calm, but her 
contracted features revealed the grief which 
pierced her heart. 

The presence of the child seemed to revive 
the dying man. He opened his eyes and look- 
ing around he muttered these words : My 
little darling — where is my little darling?'’ 

“Here I am, grandpapa, quite near you,” 
said Marguerite, leaning over to embrace him. 

Quesnoy looked at her and a last smile 
brightened up his face, bearing even now the 
impress of death. 

“ It is you — yes, it is you,” he said almost 


172 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer. 


inaudibly. Then making a supreme effort he 
continued : 

''Marguerite, my darling, I have told the 
general all I know concerning the pitcher of 
old Sevres; he has recognized your mother’s 
books. You now belong to him, you are his 
granddaughter. You will be a good child and 
do as he will tell you, will you not?” 

" I shall try, grandpapa,” answered the child, 
with a trembling voice. 

" Be to him what you have been to me, a 
good little girl, docile and obedient; be his 
joy as you have been mine, darling.” 

After a severe spell of spasmodic coughing, 
he continued painfully: "You will not forget 
my dear wife, darling; and now. Marguerite, 
I have atoned for my wrongs toward you; 
say that you forgive me and I shall die in 
peace.” 

" O grandpapa !” sighed Marguerite, scarcely 
knowing what she was saying, " do not speak 
thus, I love you so dearly ; what can I do to 
comfort you?” 

" Tell me again of — you know, my little an- 
gel; tell me again ” 

"What shall I tell you, grandpapa?” 

" The happy home.” 


Marguerite Goes to Her New Home. 173 


She guessed his wish and slowly and dis- 
tinctly began to recite to him : 


“Jerusalem, my happy home, 

How do I sigh for thee ! 

When shall my exile have an end? 

Thy joys when shall I see?" 

A smile of peace and happiness was on the 
lips of the dying man. 

“Yes/' he lisped, “Jerusalem, my happy 
home " 

There was profound silence in the room, in- 
terrupted only by the patient’s occasional 
heavy breathing. At last he seemed to feel 
somewhat relieved and apparently fell into a 
soft slumber. 

Marguerite also was tired out with anxiety 
and fatigue, and had fallen asleep. It was a 
full hour before she woke up suddenly and 
found herself in the arms of General Mal- 
bregue. Poor Dorothea was weeping as though 
her heart would break. 

“Come along with me, dear child,” said the 
general, pressing her to his bosom. 

Marguerite resisted with all her might. 
“ No !” she exclaimed, “ I will stay with grand- 
papa; I cannot, I will not leave him now,” 


174 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


My dear child, it is he who has left you,” 
said the general with exceeding gentleness ; 

his soul is here no more ; your old friend has 
departed without a struggle. Will you not 
now be my grandchild?” 

Marguerite gazed fixedly at the white and 
already rigid face of the dead man. She saw 
Mme. Quesnoy completely overcome by grief. 

Understanding now the real meaning of 
the general’s words, she burst out in tears 
with all the impetuosity of her ardent and lov- 
ing nature. The general heartily sympathized 
with her. When, after a while, he took her 
by the hand, she made no resistance, and 
quietly followed him out of the room. 

Once more, however. Marguerite aserted her 
own will, but so prudently that no one could 
have rebuked her for doing so. 

The general having offered to take her to 
his home, she peremptorily refused to leave 
Mme. Quesnoy alone in her bereavement. She 
insisted on staying with her adoptive mother 
until the remains of Jerome Quesnoy were 
brought to their last resting place. 

The child’s presence was a great solace to 
the afflicted widow. Marguerite’s tears and 
kisses gave greater relief to her aching heart 
than any human words could have given her. 


Afarguerite Goes to Her New Home. 175 

A new amd most harrassing thought came 
to increase her anxiety. Was not the discov- 
ery of the Malbregue family to deprive her of 
the child that had now become the very centre 
of her existence? Happily her apprehensions 
were not to be of long duration. 

After having consulted with his son-in-law 
General Malbregue resolved not to separate 
Marguerite from the generous woman who 
had adopted and nursed her with maternal ten- 
derness. 

He proposed to Mme. Quesnoy to take up 
her abode at his house as Marguerite’s gover- 
ness and requested her to bestow upon the 
child her care and affection as in the past. 
Mme. Quesnoy accepted with the greatest 
pleasure such a favorable proposition. It was 
her heart’s desire to stay with her beloved 
child, and to be still longer useful to her. 
This arrangement was equally agreeable to 
Marguerite. 

The stock of Quesnoy ’s store was sold ; the 
collection of porcelains of which he had been 
so proud came under the hammer of the auc- 
tioneer, and the widow left forever the little 
house of the faubourg to occupy the two beau- 
tiful rooms of the second story which General 
de Malbregue placed at her disposal. Thus 


176 


The Bric-a-brac Dealer, 


the cruel separation which the old lady had so 
much dreaded was made considerably less pain- 
ful to both herself and to Marguerite. 

They had .scarcely time to become quite 
accustomed to their new home in the Avenue 
de Messine when they had to undertake a jour- 
ney. 

Mme. Belfonds’ health and strength returned 
slowly, and her husband wished her to leave 
the city with its cold and humid atmosphere. 

It was decided that the young woman, Mar- 
guerite, the general, and Mme. Quesnoy should 
spend a few months in a more salubrious and 
agreeable climate. There was no obstacle to 
the realization of this project, and all would 
have been happy if the young and genial doc- 
tor could have joined the party. 

The result proved to be most satisfactory. 
On their return, at the end of the winter sea- 
son, the doctor noticed with pleasure a happy 
change for the better in the health of the whole 
party. His wife had completely recovered, 
and there was, besides, another change notice- 
able in Hortense. She had, during her illness, 
given herself up to serious reflection; she 
looked at life in its true light ; how then would 
or could she fall back into her former frivo- 
lous carelessness? 


Marguerite Goes to Her New Home, 177 

The change which had transformed her 
did not by any means despoil her of her 
charms; on the contrary, real virtue added 
new brilliancy to her beauty and enhanced 
still more her sterling intellectual qualities. 

She now fulfills with courage her duties as 
the wife of a medical man and shares in the 
privations and anxieties of his profession. 

The happiness of their married life is no 
longer ruffled by petty contrarieties and hasty, 
imprudent altercations. It is a noble life be- 
cause they both are treading the path of self- 
sacrifice, endeavoring to make their own exis- 
tence useful to others, and that of others bet- 
ter and happier. 

Although timid at first in the presence of her 
grandfather. Marguerite was soon gained over 
by the kindness and affection which the latter 
constantly bestowed upon her. 

It seemed to him that he had to pay up his 
old debts, and he wished to do it with heavy 
interest. 

The grief of the general was intense when 
he heard from the lips of the child the cruel 
sufferings which his oldest daughter had to 
endure. The thought of his beautiful Mar- 
guerite dying in misery in a filthy garret, a 
few steps away from his opulent dwelling, 


178 


The Bric-a-hrac Dealer, 


without a word of love and consolation, brought 
tears to his eyes. He did not doubt but the 
unfortunate Marguerite had returned to Paris 
after such a long absence in order to seek her 
father’s pardon and to commend her child to 
his care. 

At the thought of what had passed, General 
de Malbregue felt more than grief alone ; he 
felt a remorse of conscience. Was it not his 
despotic character which had alienated the 
heart of his unfortunate daughter? 

Marguerite’s presence in his house was a 
source of precious consolation. Under the 
irresistible influence which she exercised 
around her, the old gentleman has become 
more amiable, more open-hearted, and his 
countenance has gained in kindness what it 
lost in severity- and haughtiness. He is in- 
tensely fond of his granddaughter, and as she 
now reciprocates his love, their mutual attach- 
ment is growing stronger day by day. 

Yet Marguerite will never forget that other 
grandfather who adopted her when she was 
poor, unfortunate, and abandoned by all, and 
who had never faltered in his devotedness to 
his little darling. 

Marguerite often accompanies Mme. Ques- 
noy when she visits the grave of her husband 


Marguerite Goes to Her New Home, 179 

in the peaceful cemetery of Pere Lachaise, and 
at each return of spring she may be seen plant- 
ing forget-me-nots and mignonette around the 
unpretentious stone which covers the mortal 
remains of the old bric-a-brac dealer. 

Marguerite will also cherish to the end of 
her life as a most precious relic the pitcher of 
old Sevres which has played such an important 
part in her life’s history. 


Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York. 


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